Firechlld Legacy
by mysticmoods
Summary: The Empire had shaped Kahlen into weapon of terrifying power. Only wildest chance and a desperate attempt to forestall a deadly plague on the far side of the Empire had brought her to Valdemar. But to what purpose? Chapter 17 is up.
1. Barricades

Most grateful for the reviews! Thanks to Stee Parker, silvervine, and Fireblade K'Chona for my first feedback.

Firechild Legacy

Chapter 1 - Barricades

Joss pelted out of the dining hall, two apples clutched in his small hands, his face alight at the thought of seeing Merrill. Every day was like the first time - like being Chosen all over again. He'd taken two apples because she insisted on sharing, merry blue eyes teasing him into eating at least half of whatever treats he brought her. :You're growing, but you're still small, and I'm taller than most Companions.: she'd told him gently. :You'll need the height when you're older, Little Chosen.: The boy flushed at that memory, but still grinned at the thought of her nibbling her share of the apples from his hands - and they were small. At a scant ten years, he was the youngest Herald-trainee in this year's crop. 

The boy was halfway across the bridge leading to Companion's Field before he felt - then heard - a sound like distant thunder. The low rumble thrummed against his skin then grew to a shriek, rising in intensity. Halfway across the field Merrill sidestepped uncertainly, then reared in sudden distress. The boy ran forward, eyes fixed on his Companion, his fear growing as the sound increased in volume and pitch. The Companion's blue eyes rolled in terror as her head whipped around, Joss only veered toward her, hands against his ears as the sound grew, then broke over him like a battering ram. Something hit him, smashed him to the ground, and pounded him into the dark.

Merrill's screams woke him. That, and the staccato pounding of her hooves against something huge and metallic. His ears rang with it. Pain racked the boy as he struggled to roll over. _M'head. Think it's broke._ Pain thudded dully through his face, and his arm ... he blacked out again.

:Josseren? Joss!: His eyes opened blearily to the sight of Merrill's hooves dancing above him, crashing down on - was it glass? Pale blue, glowing faintly, like a fish bowl, he thought blearily. _Someone dropped a fishbowl on me._ Behind Merrill were two more Companions, flanks heaving in distress. Blearily, he recognized Herald Evan's Companion, Nari. Joss tried to push himself to his knees, but needles of pain shot through his right arm and he dropped back to ground, landing hard on his left side. _:Arm. Broke, I think.: _Joss pushed up again, cradling his right arm, then looked up through the shimmering surface. Merrill's flailing hooves rang again against the shimmering surface, but left no mark on it. He reached out shakily with his left hand, then recoiled as his questing fingers touched the strange barricade. Sparks flashed and stung like wasps, leaving his arm numb and throbbing to the elbow_. Hurts. It's hurting her_. :Stop it, love. I'm ... up now: She froze, then let out a squeal of distress. Red misted her sapphire eyes. 

:They hurt you!: __

:I'm alright now.: He wasn't. He managed a sickly smile. Anything to help her calm down.

"Joss, look at me. How bad, boy?" Healer Kevren knelt close to him, just outside the barrier. Behind him stood Herald Evan. "Can you hear us?" Their voices echoed hollowly in the strange enclosure.

"Yeah." He wanted to lie down. So sleepy.

Kevren grimaced, then raked a hand through unruly brown hair. "He's concussed, Evan. We need to get him out of there." The Herald nodded grimly, but his eyes were focused beyond the kneeling boy. "Gods ... who are they?" 

Joss turned, waited desperately for the ground to quit tilting, then squinted blearily at the two figures behind him, trapped as he was inside the faintly glowing shield. His first thought - armored? If so, it was like nothing he'd ever seen. Gauntlets of sorts, but no chain mail or breast plate. Black trousers, tunics. A full cloak, of some thin, dark material that flowed like water. Hands oddly sheathed in a thin, seamless fabric. One of the strangers lay prone, his narrow face pale with shock, breathing in shallow gasps. A helmet fully covered the other's face, with no slits for sight or breathing. Another helmet lay discarded nearby. How could they breathe? The figure on the ground cried out suddenly, convulsing. His faceless companion crouched over him, swaying slightly, hands held slightly over the body, moving slowly, cautiously. Between hands and body something quivered in the still air, but the injured man took no relief from it. Not a healing, then. 

The crouching figure rose, turned briefly toward the boy, and froze. Its hands fisted, rose, and Joss braced himself for a blow. A strangled sound, half laugh, half sob, escaped the odd helmet. The figure turned back to its companion and knelt again. Joss sank back to the ground then laid down, gasping. His stomach heaved suddenly, rejecting the fine breakfast he'd bolted down only moments ago.

"Talk to me, lad." Kevren insisted. Joss groaned, then rolled over. The healer still knelt beside him, barred as before. Herald Evan had moved farther away, but across the field he could see others running toward them, summoned by the man's silent mind-call. Odd. He could _hear_ them, but he couldn't mind-speak them, yet he could still mind-speak with Merrill. "Talk, Joss. What happened?" 

"Heard." He swallowed, his throat gone dry. "Heard it - something coming loud - hurt m'ears." Nausea rose against the pain in his head. He swallowed hard. "Tried t'get to Merrill. She's.." 

"My Nari's with her." Herald Evan said, returning to the strange barrier that enclosed him. He knelt down beside Kevren, careful not to touch the glowing barrier. 

"How do we get him out of there?" Kevren asked, forcing his voice to a calmness he was far from feeling. The Herald simply shook his head. Evan's gifts lay in mind-magic, as did his teaching duties. This was something else entirely. His eyes narrowed. The boy was mage-gifted, if untrained. A forlorn hope, but - 

"Can you lower this shield, Joss?" The boy blinked, then shook his head disconsolately. He focused hard on the strange shield and gave what information he could.

"There's two of 'em, one inside t'other. Can't touch 'em, though. Not mine, anyway." He shifted and gasped, as pain lanced through his ribs.

"His ribs are cracked." Kevren said curtly, eyes on his patient. "Try not to move, lad." 

The healer sat back and stared angrily at the crouched figure in strange armor - if it was armor. No sword, not even an empty sheath. His eyes went to the other figure, prone, talking softly in words foreign to him. Hurt, that one. The shield was adamant against any further probing. He touched it anyway, jerked back with a curse when it shocked him. His eyes went back to the strangers. If they dared hurt the boy - but the one kneeling one was speaking softly to his fallen comrade, ignoring the boy completely. The language was utterly strange.

"Not to leave me, Zethren." Her words came out a harsh, fierce whisper. "... please ..." Kahlen ran her hands lightly above the gatemaster's body again, her head shaking in denial. Gods, the damage, and she no healer. They'd held the gates, held them despite the emperor's sorcerers, despite the deaths of the others of their ward, burned up in the fires coursing through them. She'd held, despite everything. Held until the plague running rampant over the small island had so weakened Zethren he'd faltered, his grip on the gate energies weakening, slipping. Only an instant, for gateforce to fling them here. Her head still throbbed from the shock of it, and she was afraid to look at her hands. "I could try the infusion -" She began – but Sethren only shook his head. "Let me try!"

"Too late for that, Kahlen. No time. No time now. Take the shields." He said it quietly, eyes closed. Wordless, she obeyed, hissed as the fire settled into her aching bones. He seemed to gain a small measure of strength as that burden was lifted from him, and for a moment she dared to hope.

"Kahlen - it mustn't spread. All Gods help you, firechild, it mustn't spread. You'll have to - fire kills it." She froze. Stared at him in mute horror. "Ash." His eyes were fierce, as his whispered words could not be. His chest struggled to rise, to bring enough air into failing lungs for what must be said. "Ash, firechild. Peace, I won't feel it." His hand rose, gently touched her face. "Gods praise. You never caught it. Nine in ten. So few ... don't think you _can_ carry it ..." His hand fumbled for hers, brought it to his chest. Held it there. "Help me. Can't bleed out ... too risky." He nodded weakly to the huddled boy on the far side of their shield. "Save the boy, if you can. He's been exposed, but... :Now, Kahlen. Don't make me do this alone!: 

The words burned, silent, into her mind and soul. Her eyes blurred and went dark. Blindly she reached out, placed her shaking hands over his heart. They were still numb from gate-shock, but she could feel it growing in him even now - the blood-plague. Too far, much too far gone for any meager defense her own blood might have offered. His fingers grasped hers, tensed. :Now, firechild.: She sent released the torrent of energy, eyes closed, felt him spasm, then go slack. 

__

Zethren! 

Joss tried to back away, breathing hard. Gods. The one on the ground was dead. The other, face bowed, turned away. _Killed 'm. Killed'm with her hands_. The faceless mask turned toward him, then reached suddenly for its cloak fastening, pulled off the rippling black garment and threw it over the boy. 

__

"Da Naq!" The words were incomprehensible, but the meaning clear. He froze as the stranger pulled it securely over his face, body and legs, then shoved him painfully away from that slight, still form. 

Joss cried out as his broken arm scraped the ground. A bright flash, acrid smoke seared his mouth and nose, and brought frantic shouts from the men outside the strange barrier. He wanted to see! Instead he passed out again.

The herald had been testing the shields again, hoping for some sign of weakness, and the sudden blaze within the barrier caught him off-guard, searing his eyes. He backed away from the shields, hands pressed against his eyes, and sent his mind out again in a desperate quest for _any_ herald-mage within range. Nothing. Merrill screamed, lunged past Nari, then lashed out again.

Evan put a firm hand on the healer's trembling shoulder, gripping the man hard against another futile attempt at the stranger's shields. The other one was gone now, burned to ash. The one remaining knelt over the boy now, pulling the black cloak back with shaking hands. Josseran was still breathing, his eyes glazed with pain. 

A flash of color caught the Herald's eye, but it took a moment for the emblem on the stranger's cloak to register. Red wolf's head. Gold eyes. Empire mage. Gods above, how - there'd been no incursions from the empire since Tremane, backed by the Alliance, had accepted the crown of Hardorn. The consensus had been that the new emperor, Melles, would have his hands full for years rebuilding the empire in the aftermath of the mage storms. Had they been wrong?

Evan glanced at his Companion, Nari. The big stallion was pressed tight against Merrill, keeping her away from the barrier that enclosed her Chosen. The mare's silvered hooves were scorched, her forelegs bloodied, from repeated strikes at the thing, and his heart hurt just looking at her. Others from the Herald's collegium had converged quickly on the field. All were at a loss on how to break or lower the shields and get the boy out. 

* * * * * * * 

Kahlen sat, shivering, and watched the boy. She would not think of Zethren. She would _not_. She took her grief and turned it inward, focused it on the task at hand. The boy's arm was broken, surely. She reached forward, touched it gently. Skin intact, at least. It took several tries to open the fastenings of her right gauntlet and pry it off. A little loose, but with some padding ripped from his shirt it would serve to splint the break. The gloves made her clumsy. She loosened the other gauntlet and peeled off both gloves. Beneath, her hands were pale, shaking, almost translucent. 

The shields pulled at her hungrily. She looked beyond them to the people gathering in the field they'd landed in. Angry. Frightened. White-garbed. White warriors, Zethren had said - in Valdemar. Her heart faltered at the distance they'd come. Trained for such Gatings had been Zethren, called the world walker, who could fling a Gate through a mage storm or half way across the empire. So too had been the mages of his Ward, who had stolen a slave child out of the battle pens and claimed her for the gates, and the emperor's service. Trained her. Loved her. All dead now. Another white garbed warrior joined the first, stared angrily at her through the shields. Their words came through the shields clearly enough, but she could make no meaning of them. The white, blue-eyed creature shrilled a challenge at her.

Three days, she thought dazedly. It would run its course in three days_. If I can only hold - if the boy can live that long._ Grimly, she drew out her makeshift field kit and pulled out the thin quills and one of the small, tough bladders they'd devised in those last desperate hours at Granite's Gate. The child she'd been had never succumbed to the plagues visited with terrifying regularity on the sequestered slaves there. _Immune_, the cursed lifemakers had called it, though they'd never explained the term. Hard now, to get the quill into a vein. She was dehydrated, and they'd bled her so many times in that last, desperate attempt to save – she wouldn't think about it now. A slow, deep breath and she finally had it in, dark fluid pulsing slowly into the thin bladder. 

She brought the quill out smoothly, then pressed carefully on the small wound. The boy, she noted, was watching her with a mixture of fascination and nausea.

Joss scuttled back as the strange figure pulled out the small box with odd tools, peeled off gauntlets and gloves, and drew a measure of it own blood. Bronzed, narrow hands reached up and tugged the helmet off. A thin face topped with pale, thick hair pulled back in an intricate braid, met his startled gaze. Eyes like deep wells, dark as midnight, impossibly large, met his own. His eyes widened further. A woman? 

"Isnari 'uyn meralo." She said quietly. He shook his head and tried to moved away. Kahlen closed her eyes and rubbed them nervously_. :I won't hurt you.:_ She Bespoke softly. Did he hesitate? _:I don't have your words, child. Can you understand me?:_

:I don't - yes.: Her words echoed strangely inside his head - like talking to Merrill, it was, or Herald Evan during mind-speech classes. 

__

:I can't bespeak through the shields, and I don't know your spoken tongue. Your comrades can hear us, though. Can you - will you speak for me? I won't hurt you, but ... you could hurt them. You were exposed.:

:Exposed?: __

:To sickness. Blood-plague, we called it. It killed my - my gatebrothers. Nine in ten died of it, where we gated from.: She gestured wearily at the barrier. _:This keeps it in - and I cannot for the Gods sake let it out. Not for my life - nor yours. Tell them!:_

"..and she says nine out of ten on that island died of it."

Kevren glanced worriedly at the Herald. "He's terrified, Evan. And I don't think she's lying to him. Unless empire mages can lie mind to mind?" 

"I don't think so...but can we risk breaking that shield to find out_?" :Gods, we need a Herald-mage here: _Aloud he spoke calmly. "Joss, what else? Will she let us get a healer in to you?"

The boy looked cautiously at the woman. "Nad'a melornai, Joss'ren." She ran a shaking hand over her face. She's exhausted, he realized abruptly. If she loses the shields... but then what would happen? To Healer Kevren? The others, gathering frantically in response to the explosion that had ripped across Companion's Field?

"She says _all_ their healers died at Granite - where they Gated from. The plague - it hit the healers hardest." The woman caught and held his gaze, then gestured again toward his friends. "We have to wait - three days, she says. If I'm st- still alive, she'll take down the shields." 

The boy's face was pale, his eyes shocky. The black-clad mage caught him as he swayed and eased him carefully back to the ground. Kevren watched anxiously, but could find no fault in the way she straightened, then splinted the boy's arm. Nor when she checked his ribs, then wrapped him carefully in her cloak. 

Kevren stiffened, though, when she pierced the boy's arm and drew a small measure of blood and mixed it with some of her own. "Let me in." He said abruptly.

Her eyes met his calmly. No need for words here. She shook her head, then turned her attention to the small pool of mixed blood in her right palm. Whatever she was looking for, she apparently found. The woman wiped her hand on the grass, then took up the small bladder, forced the small quill into the boy's vein and squeezed. 

"No!" Kevren struck the shield, watched helplessly as the blood entered the boy's vein. "Gods, she could kill him!" Merrill screamed again and plunged against the barrier. The black-clad figure moaned and grabbed her head. She turned furiously toward the Companion, raised empty hands -

_:No! Don't hurt her!:_ The boy grabbed frantically for her arms. Startled, Kahlen turned and studied him. He was terrified, not for himself, but for the horse_! :My Companion. Don't hurt her!: _That, fiercely.

_:She mustn't do that. I've - I've opened a free channel to the shields. If she breaks them, it will kill the plague - and us with it.:_ Tears of frustration streamed silently down the woman's narrow face. _:And I promised Zethren. No more deaths. Not after - please Gods - not again.: _

Unbidden, he saw the place. Where she'd come from. Where nothing lived now but fires ravaging homes, shops, the marketplace, the small seaport that had been the heart of Granite. Where bodies littered the streets. Children. Women. Hundreds. All dead, all burning. He was retching, despite the pain in his arm and ribs. She pushed him gently of her mind, then held him tightly against the spasms, fearful he'd puncture a lung with his heaving. 

"Na'da, na'da, malerno'valen, Joss'ren." She breathed softly_. :I only gave you my blood. It doesn't clot yours, so there's a chance. The infusion can work - we saved some that way. We saved...if it's done in time.: _

_:Not Haven:_ Terror shook him, and his eyes begged her_. :Don't let that loose in Haven. Don't let it loose. Not in Valdemar.:_

She stroked his head gently, eased him back onto the grass, then looked past him. _:So. A White Demon.:_ Incredibly, she smiled. _:Beautiful, she is. Not to hurt her, Joss'ren. Better, perhaps, had she broken the barrier. Three days. I've managed worse, though:_ She unhooked a flask from her belt and held it to his lips. _:Best drink now, a little. Then rest.:_

"She won't drink." Joss looked blearily through the barrier and wondered how much time had passed. One day? Two? He'd lost track. Merrill kept vigil outside the barrier, although she no longer paced. He could still mind speak his Companion, but not the Herald or healer. Couldn't show them what he'd seen in Kahlen's mind. "She hasn't slept?"

Evan shook his head. He'd finally ordered the Healer off for some sleep. Two Companions stayed near Merrill, his own Nari and Kantor, Herald Alberich's Companion. Two more Heralds kept watch with him, and a squad of the Queen's Guard. A message had gone south to King Tremane of Hardorn for any information he could offer on Empire gate mages. All they could do now was wait. The heralds studied the small, black clad figure carefully. She hadn't moved in several hours. She was grey with fatigue beneath the bronze skin. They'd exchanged a few halting words, while Josseran slept, but no real understanding. She'd refused to wake the boy to act as interpreter. 

Josseran frowned. There was something…something he should have remembered. He looked suddenly toward Merrill, then examined the ground between them - and there they were, two small, yellow orbs tucked up against a flat paving stone. He crawled over and took them in shaking hands, then dusted off the bits of dirt and grass. Crawling back to the woman, he settled cross-legged in the grass and held out one of the apples. A ghost of a smile crossed her face, but she shook her head and pushed it back toward him, then gestured that he should eat them.

"I won't." He said quietly. "Not unless you share. If you lose the shields, we'll both die." She watched him wordlessly for a moment, then accepted the fruit and bit cautiously into it.

Joss ate his share slowly, making it last, right down to the core. The woman smiled and did the same, then nodded graciously to him, then touched her heart. "Est' nam'a Kahlen."

He nodded, and managed a shaky grin. "Your name is Kahlen."

The boy was exhausted, his reserves depleted from little water and no food. He was warm enough, though. She'd heated rocks at night to keep off the chill. The shields pulsed slightly now, a heart rhythm that worried Evan even as he hoped she might be weakening enough to drop the damned things. And she'd threatened to ash the boy - and herself - if they tried to force them. A blood-plague, she'd called it. Something brought on by the mage storms? But those had ended four years ago, and little news they'd had from the empire since. And the boy was hurting, feverish.

Kevren returned, his face grim. "Alberich reached Elspeth. She's a few hours away. If he's not out before she gets here, we're taking that shield down. However we can."

The woman stirred and looked out toward the westering sun, then reached unsteadily for the boy. Three days it had been, and now… She examined his face and hands minutely, then pulled gently on his cheeks, checking the lining of his eyes. Clear. Finally, she laid a hand on his chest. The boy flinched in fear. "Imari fres'on, Joss'ren." She said hoarsely, then dropped her face into her hands, weeping softly in relief.

"She says - she says I don't have it. She can take the shields down now." The boy's voice was thick with relief. He closed his eyes, exhausted. Merrill moved closer, whickering anxiously.

Slowly, every muscle aching, Kahlen moved to the center of the enclosed space and stretched out her hands. The shields flickered, faltered, held. She looked at them in dismay. Zethren's deathward, his energies bound so tightly to the shield she couldn't separate them from her own. Ah, Gods, this was going to hurt. She tried again, gasping in pain as the shields flared and refused to yield, them reached clumsily for the cloak and wrapped it tightly around the boy again. _:Joss'ren, cover yourself. Don't look out. I can't recall the shield energies - I have to break them. Tell your comrades they must get clear and cover their eyes: _

:But you can't-: Both her hands speared out, pointed sharply at the shields, and began to glow. He cried a panicked warning to the others, then covered his head and arms while lightening flashed out and ripped into the barriers. For a moment, the herald and healers were blinded, then deafened by the blast. When Evan's vision cleared, the shields were down. Kevren was already inside, kneeling by the boy. Carefully, he tipped water into Joss's parched, swollen lips. Merrill stood protectively over them, looking murderously at the boy's former captor.

Kevren motioned curtly to two waiting apprentices in healer greens, who gently scooped the boy onto a stretcher and bore him carefully away, the healer walking beside them. Josseran, though, kept reaching for him. Kevren bent closer as they walked. The boy struggled to Mindspeak. _:Saw the place, Kevren. Where she came from. All burned and dead. The healers there...they couldn't stop it! Couldn't fight it. They tried though - Kahlen and the other ones - all dead now, 'cept her. Don't - Don't let her go...she wants to...:_ No, Kevren thought grimly. Whoever she was, she wouldn't be allowed to go. Not until they knew what new threat the Empire posed.

Evan moved cautiously nearer the still figure, kneeling quietly on the scorched ground, then beckoned the guards to close in. _:Can you hear me?: _

No response. The guard captain drew his sword and put it lightly to the woman's throat. She didn't move. Her eyes were closed, her lips taut with suppressed pain, and her face... then he looked down at her hands. Captain Ashton swore softly, and sheathed his sword and reached down. 

"Herald Evan, I don't think she can hear us." The woman was light in his arms, her hands cradled against her chest, her breath uneven and thready. 

Evan caught sight of her hands and his own breath caught. _:Kevren! We've burns here!:_


	2. Empire Mage

Chapter 2 – Empire Mage

"Just what do we know of empire mages?" Elspeth sat in one of the smaller council chambers, exhausted after a frantic, two day ride back to Haven. Queen and Council were demanding answers, and all she had was questions. Cursing herself for not ensuring at least one Herald-mage was always on duty in Haven did no good. Alliance business had drawn so many to Hardorn, Karse or the Dorisha Plains, but that was no excuse. Blinder-sided, she thought ruefully. Herald Evan looked little better, she noted. The Herald carefully laid a slim stack of papers before her. 

"Not enough, I'm afraid. King Tremane sent this, and is sending Sejanes up from Hardorn as quickly as the old man can Gate here. It will take some time, as they haven't any active nodes near Shonar. The Empire apparently maintained a corps of several elite castes of mages at the capital, and at key points within its borders. Mages capable of rebuilding Gates quickly after the mage storms passed through. A few could even hold them in place through some of the earlier, milder storms." He hesitated. "There were also rumors of a secret program, created under the Emperor Charliss' sanction, to extend and develop new mage powers. There was no proof, and Sejanes had discarded it to rumor, until we sent a full description of our…visitors."

"No one mage could –" Elspeth's face was doubtful.

Evan raised a hand. "No one mage did. Remember, the empire's mages are trained to work together, in small groups, to build and sustain gates at need. _That_ skill is still beyond us. 

She nodded thoughtfully. "Has been done, can be done. The problem is time." 

The Herald shook his head. "This "gating," if you will, was different, Princess. Even working in teams, Sejanes isn't aware of _any_ empire mages could have gated this far, even working in concert." 

Elspeth eyed the stack of papers, frowned, then pulled it closer and began reading. "This place – Granite Isle? Where is it?"

"It _was_ a seacoast town halfway down the gulf to the Eastern Sea. Officially, it was abandoned decades ago. Extremely isolated." Evan unrolled a map and pointed. "At least six months' journey by horse and through the Southern Sea."

Elspeth stared, incredulous at the map. "So far." She whispered. "How? More important – Why?" She needed answers. The Queen needed answers. "We've Heralds with Farsight here?"

"Not that can See that far. I've called in Lanier from the field, but he's days away yet."

Only one place, then, to get the answers. And one best way. "Talia?"

"In Karsite. Her Holiness asked for her."

Well then. Intelligence was still needed, Elspeth thought grimly. And there was another answer for that too.

Alberich studied the quiet, green clad woman seated in the garden and winced in unexpected sympathy. Her hands and arms were swathed in bandages, but he still could remember the pain of his own burns even after so many years. Her eyes were glazed with pain-killing herbs the healers had doused her with. They hadn't done more because she'd locked them out. And her mind-shields were still locked tight against his questing probe, even in sleep. 

He moved forward into the quiet space around her. "So, Kahlen. Talk to me today you will." For a wonder, she met his eyes. _Flash of heat like a stooping hawk_. She nodded cautiously. Reason? To soon to hope, it was.

"Melliorae Joss'ren?" She asked, then shook her head impatiently "Josseran? He's well?"

"Better. His arm mending is." The Queen's Intelligencer eased onto the stone bench and nodded to the guards to step back. Their prisoner – guest? - looked a little better today.

"Came you, your comrade, here. No harm meant you, I think, but the why of it we must know. And words we must share, mind to mind, that the knowing be true." He touched his forehead, then gestured toward her, waiting.

She looked away, her face remote, then lowered her shields a trifle. _:You I will tell. Then to let me go. Not to tell Joss'ren. Harm enough we wrought him, Sethren and I. Not to do more. We never learned if it was a made thing, or a thing of the storms, found by mischance. But the emperor's lifemakers – _a flash of hatred accompanied that word_ - took it to study and make a weapon made of it, could such a thing be done. Granite was - small, apart from the Empire, save by the Gates. Sethren -:_ Her mind faltered, drew back into a black, grieving keening that made his throat ache. 

Abruptly, she shut him out, began to speak in hesitant Common, her voice low, husky. "In the Granite slave pens did Sethren find me. My training – had not gone well. They meant me for a battle mage. I'd proved too troublesome." She grew silent. Her right hand went to her left arm, rubbed it in growing distress, and for a moment he thought she'd refuse to say more. "Sethren took me for the Gates instead, trained and brought me into his Ward. Three seasons did I serve with him. Then ordered were we gates to build, for the Empire, to hold through the storms. That, I could do. When the storms ended to Granite we were sent, to cordon the isle and prevent any from leaving, save by the Emperor's will." 

She stood suddenly, and began to pace in growing agitation. "We made the Gates, unknowing, that the Emperor's _I'nadazi _could be about their work. Then – Sethren learned a thing. Not to believe. Beyond the Gates, to Granite streets we went then, to see it was not so…we did not _know_! That such a thing could be. That slaves there were used for the plague, tested, infected, made to endure or die as fate had it. Slaves die, in the Empire." And Alberich _saw_. _People dying, first tens then hundreds, staggering out of the slave compounds to fall into the streets. Spreading to the town's populace, a wasting sickness that strangled the breath, destroyed the lungs. So fast! And the gates closed, held fast against any who came to save family and friends, or for darker purpose, to gather the deadly fruit of that harvest. Blood born? In the air?_ _He couldn't tell. _

"A made thing, it was." She said quietly. "In our blood they had made it, weapon and defense both, to spread or to quell at need. Before I was taken for the gates, they'd made it. And tested in on many, seeking the means to counter it at need."

"The infusion you gave Josseran." Alberich said quietly. She nodded, eyes closed, exhausted.

"Inborn it was, or made by the _I'nadazi_ – the lifemakers – I do not know. To teach the body to fight the plague. To Valdemar they will bring it, if they can. Lest Valdemar brings again the mage storms, if they can find or make the counter treatment. So. Sethren brought us here, when the last gate broke. To give warning." Her eyes met his, bleak, exhausted. Afraid. Hiding something.

"Valdemar did not create the mage storms." He said it firmly. "Nor our allies. From the past they came, down through time. Stopped them did the Alliance, before more damage they did."

"Too late to stop the making of this -." She whispered unsteadily, eyes downcast. "Sethren _died_ of it. And our gate-brothers, I think. Morrelan and Drisae. To keep it from the lifemakers…Granite is gone," she choked on that word, "into the fires, no more to breed such a thing. But if elsewhere it was taken, it may yet come. Slaves are cheap, in the empire." That, bitterly. She turned to face him, exhausted, her mind open again to the truth of what she'd said. "So, Valdemaran. What will you do to meet it?"

"I know not." He said at length. "But no slaves there are in Valdemar. Leave you cannot, but fear us you need not." 

A brittle laugh escaped her, and her dark, amethyst eyes went to the guards, then away. 

Alberich gestured gently toward her maimed hands. "Will you let the healers tend these, now?"

"No." That, a faint whisper. She sat there quietly long after he left. Queen's man. Warrior still, despite his years. Honorable? At least he'd not tried to breech her mindshields. _But_ _I cannot trust him,_ she thought wearily. _Demon rider?_ _Perhaps_. But she'd served the empire too long to trust in any King or Emperor – and healers – never again. In careless hands, this secret would eat the world. The boy was safe at least, her word to Sethren redeemed. 

__

I can't gate_ out of here._ She reached for gateforce, felt for the channels – and almost screamed at the pain that lashed through her hands_. And it was in her blood, mage-gift and plague together. I may be the last – and it has to end now, before courtesy ends. There are mage-gifted healers here – if any are true lifemakers - and these people fear the Empire. Healers _made_ this thing._

She thought of Zethren, and her heart broke. Firechild, he'd named her. Not for the mage-gift that gave her power of the gates. For the _other_ gift. And _that_ she would share with no one. Fire kills it, she thought unsteadily. I can't shield much longer. Kind they have been, but when need presses, then what? She thought of Granite, and felt curiously light-headed. She did not resist when the guards came, to return her to her rooms.

"Kahlen?" Joss hesitated before coming into the room. Both guards were behaving - oddly. Neither acknowledged him as he passed, holding the small platter of fruit balanced clumsily on his good arm. A comfortable room, at least. He worried about the dark eyed woman who'd kept him trapped, helpless, in Companion's Field for three days. Not eating well, Healer Kevran had said. And Alberich had questioned her this morning. Joss shivered.

He'd been confined to the Healer's wing for almost a week now, and they were _still_ trying to glean sense out of the brief images he'd seen of the place the strangers had come from, and the disaster that had driven them here. _Gated_ here, if any of the rumors were true. His arm itched horribly, but at least the plaster cast gave him some freedom of movement. Enough for simple tasks like this, and she seemed to trust him. To _like_ him, even. Healer Kevren had let him bring her meals yesterday, and she'd even smiled at him. He set the platter down, then called again, hopefully. No one answered. 

The guard eye's focused slowly on the boy, and he stumbled as Joss shook him urgently. "How long have you been on duty here?" 

"I - a few minutes..." The sun had moved, though. The guard woke fully, shaking off lethargy. His legs cramped. His companion groaned, slid to the floor and looked blearily at the boy. "Mid-morning. We came on duty at mid-morning."

"Well she's gone." Josseran said tersely. The first guard cursed then leapt into the small suite searching. He turned, but the boy was already running down the hall.

Alberich glanced irritably at the chamber door as herald-trainee and healer entered, arguing. "Sir, Kahlen's gone." The boy said tensely. "The guards - she did something to them." The Queen's Intelligencer frowned, rising slowly. 

"Where, think you? What mischief this?" 

Kevran looked troubled. "We dosed her this morning to clean the burns. The herbs should have made her sleep. Her hands are better, but I didn't think -"

"Escaped?" He said harshly.

"No." Josseran's voice shook. "I _told_ you - she wanted to _go_. To keep the plague out of the empire's hands. Out of _anyone's_ hands."

Kahlen leaned back against the pine, watching the sun drop slowly toward the horizon. She'd found the river, had sat quietly under the pines while the cold crept into her hands and feet and heart. It eased the burns, some. The sand bar here forced the river to turn, forming a small cove where storms had piled enough drifted wood for her needs. Her refuge was well hidden for the short time she'd need it. The nearby trees might burn, but the river would contain it. Her forehead rested on her knees, arms wrapped loosely around her legs. _I'm so tired. And it doesn't matter_. She'd fought this for days, but no other answer served. And her hands had healed enough for one last effort. 

She couldn't reach the empire, even if she'd been mad enough to try. No hiding place there would be safe, save perhaps the wreckage she'd left at Granite. And _nothing_ could survive there – she'd may sure of that. The Empire was mad, to have made this thing. She couldn't Gate into the Void – the channels were still too raw, or so the healers had told her. Truth, or a politic lie to keep her trapped here? But she could _feel_ the damage, the channels that had tamed the power flows as burned and charred as her poor hands. And not healing, because she dared not let healers touch them, who might touch other things. Healers couldn't be trusted. Granite would be only the beginning, not the end_. I can't save myself. Zethren chose at Granite, to keep this thing trapped there, if we died of it. Morrelan and Drisae did no less. And I have no other way to keep it trapped._ Her arms were wet with tears. _I didn't think it would be this hard._ She'd wanted to trust the quiet, scar-faced man who'd questioned her this morning. She could not trust these people. Dared not.

There were distant voices, calling frantically to each other across the river and there was no more time. Fire kills it. Gods. She swiped angrily at her eyes, then peeled away the bandages binding her hands. And called the fire.

The water shocked her back to awareness. Something dragged her, hard against the freezing current. _:No, Chosen. Not yet, and not alone.:_ Stone scrapped her back, then brushed against her damaged hands. A scream tore from her throat. _:Chosen, let me in. Let me help._ _Kahlen!:_ Something flowed over her hands, numbed them. She opened eyes blind with pain, felt it lessen, draw back. Light, cool and mild flowed over her arms and face, washing away the worst of it. Enough to bring a moment's relief. A blue light washed across her eyes, luring them open. And pain vanished, and fear, and the empty, aching void where Zethren's death had left her. _:I am Rand, Chosen. I will not leave you. I will not let you go. And no one here will make a weapon of you. You are ours, now, firechild. Only breathe. Stay with me.:  
_


	3. The Language of God

Chapter 3 – The Language of God  


"Our prisoner. A Companion Chose our prisoner, the empire mage." Elspeth closed her eyes, rubbing absently at the ache in her forehead. "Gods." 

__

:Rand knows what he's doing.: Kantor said softly. Alberich saw the Herald-mage wince. No doubt her own Companion, Gwena, was saying the same.

"So. What are we dealing with? Suicide attempt?"

"I don't think so, Princess." Josseran spoke diffidently. He'd been the one to find them, drawn by the fire that had broken out in the small wooded copse on the narrow peninsula a the turn of the river. Rand had let him throw his cloak over the girl. His throat still ached at the damage she'd done to her hands. Again. "She said they'd put it in the blood. Those marks on her arms? Before she was chosen for mage training - they keep slaves in the empire, and she – she said," He swallowed. "It had been put in the blood, tested on slaves. That's how she saved me, because her blood fights it." 

"We don't know that this plague is even real." Kevren said bluntly.

"It matters not." Alberich said heavily. "She _believes_ it. And Josseran reported truly. Those people died…If she thought we'd take it, use it…" 

"No healer would dare -" Kevren's face flushed, outraged.

"No healer in _Valdemar_." The Intelligencer said firmly. "In the Empire?" He shrugged. "Not so different were Karsite sun-priests, when first I came here. Had they means to loose such a thing on Valdemar, yet to spare those of Karse, they would not have hesitated." He caught the young healer's eye. "The Healing Gift does not guarantee virtue, Kevren. But healers she did not accuse. Lifemakers, she called the ones who made this disease. And what they are, I know not."

Kevren fell silent, still fuming. It went beyond outrage, that _anyone_ would dare accuse a healer of creating a disease – let alone a horror such as this one. If it was even true..

__

:Kantor. What does Rand say?: 

:Rand says we're damned lucky her shields held that first day, Chosen. He's got her sleeping now. Real sleep, with shields down and Kevren's people finally able do something with those burns.:

"The Council is never going to accept an empire born Herald-mage." Daren said morosely. Alberich looked at the Lord-Consort, and suppressed a smile. 

"Better to ask, my lord, how we're going to get our new recruit to accept what has become of her. Companion's Choice is not the Council's decision. Nor is it young Kahlen's."

"True enough." Elspeth raised her head, smiling wearily. "Mother's backing Rand for now, and letting the Council chew on it. Anyone else who wants to argue, she's sending to you." Alberich nodded. To be expected, it was. "Lanier made it in this morning. He'll try to Farsee this evening, after a meal and some sleep. I've asked Sejanes and Darkwind to join us, in the Heartstone room." 

"It's gone." The herald said shakily. "Nothing but ash and bones. Not – not even a tree." Lanier rubbed gently at his temples. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking. He'd never stretched his gift this far. Even in concert with Elspeth, who shared the Farsight gift, supported by both Companions, and Elspeth tapping into Valdemar's Heartstone. He shivered, then drank the tea the healers had prepared for them to blunt the expected reaction headache. He could tell it was going to be bad this time. He wanted to get drunk. And forget. The young herald looked pleadingly at Elspeth. The princess pressed his arm for a moment, then nodded, her eyes sympathetic. Lanier rose and left quickly. 

The old mage, Sejanes, leaned back and looked over at Elspeth and the hawkbrother Darkwind thoughtfully. "Gone, indeed." He said, greatly troubled. "She did not lie, then, this Kahlen."

"No." Elspeth said quietly. "She did not lie. But we don't know if she told all the truth. And there may be yet more she hides from us, unknowing." The princess pushed away from the stone table, "I'm debating asking Firesong to come to Haven." She looked searching at her mate. "That kind of earth damage…is the province of a healing adept." Darkwind nodded gravely, then reached up to stoke his bondbird. He'd not seen land blasted to extremis like that, not even in the worst of the damaged lands in the Pelegirs. 

Sejanes tapped his hands together thoughtfully. He'd parted ways with the mages near the Emperor circles years ago, when he'd attached himself to Tremane's service. A weapon such as this young women had described would not have been beyond some of them – certainly, not beyond their ambitions. But the arrogance of it – and the recklessness – appalled him. The Emperors of the Eastern Empire were not known or chosen for arrogance – still less for recklessness. Yet some mages might well have been tempted, had provenance – or the mage storms – dropped such a weapon unsought into their hands. The old man sighed heavily. "I think – I'd best meet this Kahlen. At the least, I wish to examine the garments you described to me. The red wolf's head – that was not an emblem of the gatemasters."

Kahlen leaned trustingly against the white creature that lay beside her. Warm, he was. Safe. Odd, that she could trust someone so strange. But he wasn't strange, not at all. His fires didn't burn. And his mind-touch was open, calm, and fearless. He'd dragged her off the sandbar, stayed by her at the river, eased her onto his back for the pain-wracked, slow trip back to her prison and the healer's care, with Josseran talking frantically at her side. Had calmly dismissed the guards. And done something to make her sleep, while the healers finally got a chance at her hands. She'd lost track of the time spent sleeping, but her hands were almost well, with only light bandages. Healers. She shivered_. Not all healers were lifemakers. _She examined that thought, poking at it like a wound barely healed. _But some are._

:I am with you, Chosen. I won't leave you. And you don't need guards while I'm here. But you do need words, and a history lesson. Shall we continue?:

"…andValdemar is hearthbonded to Iftel, Karse and Hardorn."

__

:Hearthbonded?: Amusement colored the Companion's thoughts.

"Allied?" Rand nodded approval, then touched her softly on the neck. He liked her soft, husky accent.

__

:You're very quick. Chosen: She shivered, then looked ruefully at her bandaged hands. Still too tender for grooming him, as she'd seen others do. She'd watched Josseran tend Merrill a bit enviously_. :And you need another Healing.:_

"The healer – Kevren." She grimaced. "He's an idiot."

__

:He doesn't believe a healer – any healer – would do the things you told us.: 

"He'd better." She whispered softly, shivering. 

__

:You'll be ready to join the classes soon. It may be strange, being in with the younger trainees. It won't hurt that you're small: 

She turned puzzled eyes on him. "Why?"

__

:Most are young – perhaps thirteen years. Very few are Chosen once fully grown:

Kahlen smiled suddenly, then looked directly at him. "How old do I look to you, Rand?"

The Companion turned thoughtful, sapphire eyes on her. Her narrow face was still too thin, the skin oddly bronzed in the dappled light that graced the north glade, but clear and unlined. He'd brought her here several times, away from the cautious, distrustful eyes of the Palace. Her eyes, though, were dark wells of uncertainty, and troubled_. _A few years past twenty, he thought, amused._ :Old enough to make your own decisions.: _He said gently. 

"I have sixteen seasons." She offered quietly. "It's the fires, I think." A rueful smile met her Companion's astonished gaze. "Sethren says the gatefires shape us to our purpose. Once he brought me to the Ward, I grew faster than most. We're bred for it, I think…and we had so few who could hold the fires." The smile faded_. :Have I lost it, Rand? I can still hear _gatesong_, but:_ She raised her hands, felt for the fires, then flinched. 

__

:I don't think so, Chosen. You need time to heal, and to rest. The channels are damaged, and heal slower than flesh: He touched her again, nostrils flaring. He liked her scent. He also liked comtemplating the healer's likely reaction to this bit of news_. :Nari, you'd best pass this on to Evan…:_

Kevren rubbed his forehead, then looked plaintively from Herald Evan to Kahlen. "Sixteen seasons." He looked at his newest patient in frustration, and wished again he had mind-speech and could get behind those stubborn black eyes. "She's well enough to start classes." He said it reluctantly. Evan nodded. "She'll need to rest tonight, though, before testing."

Kahlen looked at the man curiously. "Testing?"

"We haven't pressed it, Kahlen," Evan answered patiently. "You have the Mage-gift. It goes with Gating, and has other uses. And Mind-speech. There may be others, and they all require training."

"Only two others, I think." She said uncertainly. "Power transfer, and the fires."

"The fires?" Kevren frowned.

"By the river. I _called_ the fire…by the river." Grief spasmed across the girl's narrow face. "And for Zethren." She flexed her bandaged hands carefully, then looked cautiously at Kevren. "Thank you for the healing."

"I see." Kevren said it weakly, looked helplessly at Evan. "You'd best explain this."

"Firestarter." Evan said it quietly, suppressing a surge of incipient panic, his mind racing through the faces in the Circle – until he recalled that Griffon had that gift, that Dirk had successfully trained him. He'd have to check Dirk's training roster... "I have to ask, Kahlen. Can you control it? Completely?"

She looked at the men, confused. "It is _myself_. Control is – it is not a separate thing."

__

:Nari?: Quickly, the Herald relayed his concern to his Companion.

__

:Rand says she's not a threat. The channels are too raw, for one thing. And the gift isn't tied into her emotions.: The Companion shuffled unhappily_. :Chosen. The last Firestarter… Valdemar doesn't get a Gift like this unless…_: Evan waited patiently. _:Unless it's going to be needed.:_

* * * *

Josseran plopped his breakfast tray down next to Kahlen, and was rewarded by a shy smile. Her hands were still lightly bandaged, but the burns on her face had faced to a few pale marks, like splashes of silver on the warm gold. The other trainees, he noted wryly, were keeping their distance.

"A fair morning, Josseran." She said gravely, her voice warm and husky.

"You've got more words." He grinned impudently.

"And you've got your arm back." She touched it lightly, then resumed her meal.

"Have they assigned your classes yet?" Kahlen shook her head. 

"Rand has been showing – teaching the history, and the words." Her eyes grew warm as she spoke of her friend. "The Healer, Kevren says care for him I can, now." She flexed her hands gingerly, then reached for the spoon. "And I'll have classes soon. Evan takes me to the dean this morning."

Evan stood by the door of the cluttered office while Dean Teren questioned the newest recruit.

"So, you speak several Empire languages? And Rand has been teaching you Common."

Kahlen nodded cautiously. The old man was kind, but a bit unnerving. "History you'll need. Now, mathematics. Have you numbers?"

Two hours later the dean was still staring hungrily at the slates propped against the wall of his study. "…and the terms collect, so, then _inf'ansion_ - integration. You see?"

Mathematics, he'd said dazedly. She thought in math the way a Bard thought in music. Notes and scales, curves and shape. Power and time. "My dear, however did you learn this?"

"The numbers?" She laid the chalk down, then shook her cramped hand, and flashed him a brilliant smile. "Ivan'ari mellornai A'shanar." Her eyes closed a moment, then opened on him curiously. "It is the language of God, and of the fires. You don't find it so?"

He shook his head ruefully. "I'll have to get our artificers to look at this. They'll likely agree with you, my dear." He consulted his class schedules. "Four, I think. History and Law. Languages. Math…I'll have to consult with ..." He jotted down the choices and handed them to Evan. 

"She'll need weapons work." The Herald noted, handing the list back. The dean nodded, then added a fourth class. "Best clear it with the healers."

Kahlen watched quietly, then followed the Herald out of the building and across the grounds. "We've time yet. I want to show you something." They entered the salle at the heels of a departing class of youngsters. Kahlen caught Josseran's quick grin as he darted past, chasing his classmates, then turned curious eyes on the large, open space. Warm woods, unfinished but rubbed smooth, covered the walls. High, narrow windows brought in ample light. 

A woman in heraldic whites turned to smile at them, her arms filled with wooden practice swords. 'A new student, Evan?"

"Once the healers agree, yes." He turned to Kahlen, who stood quietly, eyes bright with curiosity. "This is Weaponsmaster Jeri, Kahlen. She trains the Heralds and Bardic students. Herald Alberich still occasionally teaches, but he stepped down as weaponsmaster a few years ago to work on…other things." He finished uncomfortably. "She'll train you in sword craft, among other things."

"Weaponswork? You want me to fight." Kahlen's face went suddenly remote..

The two Heralds exchanged uneasy glances. "We want you to be able to defend yourself." Jeri said quietly. "Heralds protect people. Sometimes we have to protect them from enemies. Sometime slavers, or bandits when we're on circuit. We train our students in the skills they need to survive. You'll start by sparring with younger trainees -"

"No." The girl said quietly. "No sparring. Ever." She backed up a step, then another. "I have to go now." By the time she reached the door, she was running.


	4. Companion's Dilemma

'bout time I included a disclaimer. Valdemar, Heralds and Companions are the works of Mercedes Lackey, and remain her sole and personal property. Firechild Legacy is a derivative fanfiction work not intended for publication or profit.

Updated to correct a few problems, courtesy of my fine reviewers. Please keep feedback coming! Is too fast? Dragging out? Bad transitions?

Chapter 4 – Companion's Dilemma

Natoli felt a shiver of excitement as she watched the scriber in Kahlen's hand glide furiously across the large sheets of brown paper tacked across the wall in the back room of the Compass Rose. This was not a class, as such. Master Levy had been asked to assess the Herald Collegium's newest student for placement in her mathematics classes. Instead, he'd questioned the girl for nearly two hours, then told Natoli not to bother with placement and directed both women to join him in the back room of the Compass Rose. Master Ashoke had joined them a short time later, watched for a time, then promptly cancelled his classes for the rest of the day, staring with growing fascination at the equations the small, bronzed skin woman placed on the boards. 

"This term, young lady?" He stepped forward to tap the strange symbol.

"'Est' leronain 'nai…." Kahlen stopped, eyes closed in frustration as she hunted for the words. "It's a short-cut symbol for summation of the collected energy terms." The small hand darted forwarded, added two more notations. "These symbols represent the limiting factors, and they can be expanded to the limits of the energy available." The girl's dark eyes were bright with animation, but Natoli noticed the faint shadows under them. They'd been at it, after all, for three hours.

"I think, Master Levy, we'd best think about a rest." Natoli pushed her own chair back, stretching. "And some food."

The masters glanced at her in surprise, then turned to look at the mechanical clock, a new addition to the room's decor. "You're right, my dear." Master Levy's eyes returned gleefully to the board, covered now with row on row of neat notations. "And best get a student in here to copy this down. An excellent proof, my dear Kahlen. Well, Ashoke?"

"The Heralds will never let you have her, Levy." 

"Of course not," The Master replied cheerfully. "But she's scheduled for mathematics this term, and mathematics she shall have. But not with the usual classes, my dear. We shall …" He glanced conspiratorially at Natoli, "have to put her in Master Natoli's advanced class on theoretical mathematics."

Natoli raised a finely arched brow. "The journeyman class I've just started?"

Both masters smiled at her, eyes glinting in approval. "Don't be surprised at the occasional visit by…interested masters." He said casually. Natoli nodded, her sharp eyes bright with understanding.

Kahlen sat next to the old master, her dark eyes glowing in the warm light of his approval despite the cramping in her fingers. Kindred souls, these. She looked around the room and sighed. The lighting could be improved with some mage lights, but the food was wonderful, and the freedom to speak her thoughts – to disagree with impunity – intoxicating. She thought guiltily of Josseran, who would be looking for her at lunch. _:Rand? Would you let Josseran's Companion know that I won't be meeting him at the dining hall today? I don't want him to worry.: _

:I will.: Rand's mood was light, almost paternal. He glanced at the slate boards through her eyes and gave a mental chuckle. _:You'd best eat quickly, Chosen. You've weaponswork next.:_

Kahlen closed her eyes, her face going suddenly blank. She hadn't wanted to think about it. She'd managed to endure two weeks of lessons without antagonizing the instructor, Jeri, but the woman's quiet eyes had followed her relentlessly. They'd only used the wooden practice weapons so far, and she dreaded being asked to handle live steel. She'd done a bit of practicing with the younger students – set moves designed to strengthen muscles – but nothing more. She had not sparred, and she wasn't going to. She didn't dare. She ate a bit of the excellent stew the masters had ordered, but her appetite was gone. Better to get it over with, then. Pushing back from the table, she made her excuses, agreed to meet Natoli on the following day, and gathered her things.

Kahlen arrived at the salle early. Jeri was still out in the yard, drilling the younglings at archery. Two men in guardsmen blue were working out at the far end of the salle. Kahlen watched for a moment, then stowed her book bag and went to pick out one of the practice swords. She paused, though, to look over the array of steel weapons. The assortment amazed her. So many sizes and styles… she'd trained on such weapons once, had sworn never to do so again.

"This one should suit you." The weapon was flying at her even as she turned. The steel shocked her hands, reverberated in her bones before she could think to drop it. The man facing her wore, not heraldic whites, but a brown leather training vest over a crisp woolen tunic of deep green. A folded scarf bound thick blond hair out of his eyes. Dark, sardonic eyes watched her with speculation and faint amusement. The gold rings flashing on his hands marked him as noble. She'd seen him several times in the salle, had distantly noted his fighting style as fast and unpredictable.

"You're not armored, so I'll leave my tip blunted." No more warning than that, he attacked. Kahlen never thought. Her body arched backwards in a shallow dive, hands striking the floor despite the sword gripped there, rolling away from her assailant, spinning, twisting, righting herself into a defensive stance. The man's face registered surprise, but he'd already moved forward into an attack position. 

"Stop." She said it harshly, for a moment tempted to simply drop the weapon. But she didn't know him, didn't know what this meant. And there was time yet, please the gods, before…

"Sorry, my dear." He circled her carefully, warily, but still confident. "Our heralds are too valuable – and too trusting of one of their own." A feint, engagement. Her arm ached at the clash of steel on steel, but she'd managed to block his move. Another feint, this one surer. She blocked it, her mind already registering, analyzing, the beginnings of his pattern. Her throat tightened with remembered panic. "Best to learn sooner what training you've had, and what you're made of. Before someone gets hurt."

"Stop it, please – I can't -" Block, move, thrust – she whirled into an attack pattern of her own, diving under his blade, rolling neatly back to her feet. A whistle of appreciation echoed from the watching guardsmen. She never heard Jeri enter the salle, never heard the weaponsmaster order the younger students quickly back into the yard. The man was relentless, pressing harder now, and there was no time to think, only to react, to survive. They continued sparing, moving lightly around the salle. When their next engagement brought them near the weapons rack, Kahlen thrust out one desperate hand and _called_ – and a long dagger leapt from the rack and smacked, hard, into her left hand. 

The noble hesitated, then pulled a similar, wicked looking blade from his belt. Jeri tensed and stepped away from the wall, but the man only shook his head and lunged forward. _:Rand! Make them stop!: _No time for more. She was trapped now, in the moves of the dance, deadly and inevitable. Intoxicating. The noble moved well, but she had his moves, his patterns now.

Jeri watched, eyes narrowed, as Kahlen slowly changed from merely defending to actively engaging her opponent. Kahlen's moves were fluid, mesmerizing, and oddly evocative of another style of fighting she'd seen but couldn't quite place. But she'd seen enough, and signaled Lord Orwen to disengage. The man ignored her, eyes narrowed, all his energies focused on the small whirlwind that was slowly breaking through his defenses, anticipating each move, countering with a speed that left him awed and increasingly aware that she was _not_ sparring with him, but attacking in deadly earnest. He deliberately backed off, deliberately slowed his movements – almost, it seemed to work. The girl's dark eyes had turned black, almost blank with concentration. Tranced, he realized in dismay. He'd have to beat her, to stop her – if he could.

"Jeri – she's –" but the weaponsmaster had seen. With a startled oath she took up a staff and moved in to break up the match – swung the metal tipped staff into the melee – and stared in disbelief as Kahlen moved _through_ the staff, _through_ Orwen's blades, fading briefly like molten glass, and struck the noble across the chest with both forearms. They fell together, striking the wooden floor of the salle. For one terrible moment Jeri thought they were both dead. Then Orwen moved, gingerly lifting his head, raising both arms to shift the girl's hands away from his neck, and from the two weapons she'd buried to the hilts in the salle's floor.

"Well, Jeri." He said weakly, "You did promise me a good workout." His opponent said nothing, merely slumped bonelessly against him, breathing shallowly. He looked down, and anything else he might have said faded at the look of blank horror on the girl's face. "Heyla, child, you didn't do that badly…" She wasn't hearing him.

He looked hopelessly at the Herald, "Shock?" Together they began examining her for wounds or blows. Jeri glanced sharply at the watching guardsmen, who'd broken off their own sparring when things had gotten so…interesting. 

"Get Healer Kevren." One nodded and ran out the door.

"You have…. a nice pattern… very complex." Kahlen said, her voice a bare whisper. _Alive. He was still alive._ Her hands fluttered lightly, cautiously, over the man's face and arms. Pressed hard against his chest, feeling the pulse. Life. She breathed unevenly, gulping the air. "I didn't - ?" 

"Not this time." He replied, still short of air himself. His eyes, when they returned to Jeri, held a bit of humor. "Any more new students you want to spring on me today, cousin?"

"Not today, Ori." Jeri slumped to the floor and laid a shaking hand on the girl's shoulder. "Kahlen, I think you'd better talk to me, child. That was – incredible. And I'm sorry Alberich wasn't here to see it. But I need to know why – how?" She stared at the girl helplessly.

Kahlen turned her face away. "We aren't - weren't trained to spar." Her voice held an odd, dead quality. "In my battle cohort. We were trained to kill. With steel at first, then with power. It was quite simple, really. When our masters thought we were ready, they would put two of us inside a battle shield, with weapons of their choosing. When one was dead, they'd let the other out. It allowed them to weed out the weaker ones, you see." Lord Orwen stared at the girl curled into his lap, then looked helplessly at the weaponsmaster. "I survived seven such …training encounters." She said quietly. "On the eighth, Joran and I teamed instead, and did our level best to break the shield. We broke it, but he – he didn't – so they awarded the match to me." Jeri held her breath until it hurt. "On the ninth – Mordan died when we broke the shield. I killed the lifemaster who'd put us in there. I'd never have managed it, but he was so surprised that any would even dare…" She shivered, and stared blankly at the far wall. "When you first asked me to spar, I didn't think you meant until someone...after all, no one's died all week." Her soft laughter was tinged with hysteria. Her hands went again to Lord Orwen's face, trembled against his breath. "I'm glad I didn't kill you." She added quietly, then curled into his leather vest and simply shut them out.

Jeri walked away, nauseous. That anyone – anywhere – would abuse children in their care, outraged her. That anyone would condition a killing reflex into such children was obscene. And what was she supposed to do about it? She took a deep breath. The girl was a Herald, albeit a trainee. And she had to be able to defend herself - _without_ killing - save in direst necessity. Her eyes went again to the weapons imbedded in the salle floor. _That_ was simply not possible. No human could – and the girl had somehow moved _through_ her staff, and Orwen's blade, like light passing through a windowpane. And that was not possible either. 

__

I'm out of my depth here. Magery and weaponscraft, merged into an integral weapon? She'd have to take this to the Circle. Jeri went to kneel by the girl, noting uneasily that Orwen's arms were now firmly entrenched around Kahlen's slender waist, her head tucked securely into his shoulder. Damn. Her cousin had always been a bit of a romantic. She opened her mouth – and whatever she might have said was interrupted by the guardsman's return, with two healers in tow.

Kevren took in the situation as a glance, then turned sharply to the weaponsmaster. "I said she was ready for training – not sparring with this maniac." Which was a bit harsh, since the healer had himself sparred on several occasions with Lord Orwen. "Kahlen?" He knelt by the girl, noted her pale complexion and glassy eyes. "Shock." He said tersely, and bent to take her from Lord Orwen.

To his surprise, the young lord shook his head, then grabbed the healer's shoulder and pulled himself up, the girl still in his arms. "I'll take her." He said grimly. "And Jeri – you'd best find an answer for this. For the Circle _and_ the Council." But his grip on his burden was oddly protective as he followed the healer out of the salle.

* * * * *

__

:I tried, Chosen: It took Kahlen a moment to place the voice – and the room. Back in the healer's care. She sighed and rolled over, burying her face in the pillow_. :I told Jeri's Companion to make her break off the match, but I couldn't - :_ she felt the crushing guilt that colored Rand's thoughts, and flinched away from it. _:I couldn't reach you! The weaponsmaster tried, Chosen, but if you hadn't managed to divert that last blow – you'd blocked me out, and I couldn't…:_ Enough. Kahlen pushed herself up, then rolled to a sitting position. Her greys were piled on a nearby chair, and no healers were near enough to order her back into bed. She dressed quickly, debated her chances, then slipped out the window and hurried down the garden toward Companion's Field. She found Rand waiting near the bridge, and flung herself against the bowed, silvery neck. _:I'm sorry.:_ She said gently. _:I didn't mean to – I thought–:_ She drew a shaky breath_. :I thought if you knew – you wouldn't want me.:_

:Chosen. There is nothing_ you could do, _nothing_ about you that would make me reject you.:_ The Companion nudged her closer, then sidled toward the fence, inviting her to mount.

__

:I'm not human, not really. Or not fully, anyway.: She blurted out, then closed her eyes. _:I don't know what I am. The lifemakers never told us.:_ There. It was said. Incredibly, her Companion chuckled. _:I'm not exactly human either, Chosen. And there are others, at the Queen's Court that you've yet to meet, who would hardly qualify. Yet they are of Valdemar, and are welcome here, and call it __home.: _

__

:Home?: Tears blurred her eyes. _:Home was my gateward, and they're dead now. All I have left of them are memories…and the clothes I arrived in:_ She gave a shaky laugh_. :I'd best track them down, too, before they're thrown out for rags:_

:But not this moment, Chosen.: She could feel his taut muscles slowly relaxing under her hands_. :You missed your equitation class, and I could use a good run:_ Kahlen yielded with good grace, and pulled herself onto his back. 

__

:Just remember, I don't ride nearly as well as I…do other things.: She sighed though, and fell into the rapport that enabled her to follow his lead as he shifted from an easy walk, to a canter, to a thundering run that took them on a wide circuit of the field. When he finally slowed, they were near the ruins of a small temple, in sight of the bridge leading back to the palace grounds.

__

:Better, Kahlen?: She could tell he was still anxious for her, and nodded, reaching to stroke his crest. _:Kahlen…I want you to consider something. You know you need weapons training…more, you need to be able to train without confusing a training exercise with a true threat.:_ Kahlen nodded, not trusting herself to speak_. :I can do that for you, Kahlen. If you'll let me in. Until you can trust yourself to know the difference: _

Kahlen was silent for so long he feared he'd offended her. _:If I let you …there would never be any going back. For either of us. And you would have to guard my… privacy: _

:There is no going back, Chosen, for either of us.: He said it firmly, on solid ground with her, at last_. :You may surprise me. You will never drive me away.:_

Kahlen's laughter was tinged with hysteria. _: I'll hold you to it, then.:_ And opened her mind fully to her Companion – who started in shock, then simply stood there, trembling. Battle-trained, indeed. _:Well?:_ He could feel her hope, and her uncertainty, and her fear that he would reject her, despite the bond. Battle-mage, she named herself. The reason for her conditioning was painfully apparent now. With such a weapon, nothing less would serve. And this was what was sent to Valdemar, in time of need. Gods. 

__

:It is as I said.: He answered gently. _:Nothing is going to separate us.:_ He moved forward again, but his heart grieved. For Valdemar. For Kahlen. And he wondered if Yfandes, Companion to Vanyel Ashkevron, had felt this same sense of helplessness when confronted with the full scope of his powers – and the threat that required it. 

Okay – enough foreshadowing already. Anyone who hasn't figured out who Rand is yet?

Please, please review!


	5. Death on Black Silk

Disclaimer - Valdemar, Heralds and Companions are the works of Mercedes Lackey, and remain her sole and personal property. Firechild Legacy is a derivative fanfiction work not intended for publication or profit.

That said, please read and review!

Chapter 5 – Death on Black Silk

"Well, Master Sejanes?" The Lady Elspeth nodded impatiently to the older mage, then looked searchingly at the others gathered in the gryphon's spacious quarters. The gryphon Trevyan, k'Lesha envoy and a master mage in his own right, reclined comfortably near one side of the table, brought hastily to his quarters as Lady Elspeth's request in deference to Sejanes advanced years. His mate, Hydona, was currently teaching, and their children, Lytha and Jerven, were both in classes. For once the public room of their ambassadorial suite could be put to its original use – a safe haven for highly sensitive meetings. Darkwind lounged against the bronze, winged creature that had taken him as "featherless son," years ago in k'Sheyna Vale. Elspeth, Weaponsmaster Jeri, Herald Alberich and Herald Evan sat the table, the better to examine the artifacts taken from Herald-trainee Kahlen. 

It took Elspeth back, for a moment, to that first, heady conference after her triumphant return from Sorrows, when they had plotted Ancar's downfall in this very room. They'd known then, who their enemy was – and Valdemar had paid for that knowledge in lives and blood. They did not know who their enemy was this time –or if there truly was an enemy, or merely some horrible twist of fate.

The old mage fingered the black, silken material on the desk before him, and met Elspeth's eyes reluctantly. "Doesn't cut. Doesn't burn. Doesn't tear. Seems to be made of a heavy silk." He folded the fabric, bringing the emblem face up. A red wolf's head. Seven, no, nine golden disks, in three neat rows below the stylized red emblem. Four, then three, then two. He fingered them again, but their meaning did not change. "Empire mages who build and maintain the permanent gates wear such fabric." He said at last. "The energies are dangerous, and can be hard to control. The fabric is crafted to withstand those energies, within limits, and so provide a measure of protection to its wearer. It is spell cast, and difficult to make. But this is not the gate builder symbol." Sejanes paused, measuring his words carefully. These Valdemaran allies had saved Hardon and the Imperial army who'd come to conquer that war-torn, ravaged country, and stayed instead to rebuild it. He owed them accurate information. Even an educated guess could be misleading – and possibly disastrous.

"I don't know what these emblems mean." He said at last, and raised a gnarled hand to forestall interruption "At least, not in this context. Let me give you some imperial history. Imperial soldiers are trained in cohorts of ten men each – battle squadrons are composed of ten squadrons. To command a cohort a solder must demonstrate mastery of four field weapons – sword, dueling dagger, pike and mace. For this, he received four bars, marked in red enamel." 

"Close combat weapons." Jeri murmured, eyeing the first row of golden discs on the black cloak.

"Just so." The old mage nodded. "When circumstances permit, he must also demonstrate his competence in the field. If he fails, he is demoted back to the ranks. If he succeeds, the bars are replaced with gold disks, such as these." Elspeth nodded for Sejanes to continue.

"To advance from cohort to squadron commander, he must attain the gold, and add mastery of crossbow, spear, and throwing hammer. Distance weapons, if you will. Again, the rank is conditional. Demonstrated ability is required to achieve the gold of permanent rank." The uniform markings for conditional rank are blue for squadron commanders, black for a legion commander. Sejanes' fingers traced the second row, his expression grave. "To command a legion, a commander must demonstrate an in-depth knowledge of tactics and strategy – and he must have defeated at least two rivals in personal combat." Elspeth leaned forward, her eyes intent. Jeri glanced curiously at Kerowyn. The Herald-Captain was known for promoting only seasoned veterans, regardless of rank or family connections.

These competitions are intense," the old mage continued, "but not usually fatal. As before, once proven in combat, the bars are replaced with gold disks." He signed heavily. "These combats are between professional soldiers, and the chance to seek such advancement is elective. While under orders, they remain citizens of the empire." Sejanes raised troubled eyes. "It was not always so. In the early days of the empire, a skilled warrior, taken in combat from conquered lands, might be given a chance to _earn_ a place in the imperial army through trial by combat against his former comrades. These were death trials. For each such trial, a gold disk was awarded to the victor." The others stared at Sejanes, shocked. "Such combat ensured the candidates loyalty and interests were committed to the empire. There could be no divided loyalties, no going back, you see. Herald Alberich."

The Herald nodded curtly. "You reported that young Kahlen claims to have been a mage-bred slave from the far side of the Empire. Each of these disks, then, may represent a successive number of death trials. Such trials have been used to bind young mages into servitude to their masters. Ancar…was known for using bloodpath magic in that way. It is not unknown, within the empire."

"Kahlen said she survived nine such trials." Jeri said tonelessly. "Nine dead…"

"You mistake my meaning, Lady." The former empire mage looked ill, and older than his considerable years. "These disks may well represent over _two hundred and fifty deaths_. And if those deaths were spell-bound…:

"She fought it." Jeri said abruptly, her eyes flashing to Elspeth. "In the eighth trial – she and her opponent – a boy, I think – broke the enclosing shield, rather than fight each other. In the ninth trial her opponent broke the shield, and she – she killed the mage who'd trapped them there." The woman rose, and began to pace agitatedly about the room. "If there was blood magic involved, Kahlen was its victim, not its user."

"We don't know that, Jeri. You didn't invoke truthspell -" Elspeth hesitated, glancing beseechingly at Darkwind. Darkwind shook his head slightly, but his eyes narrowed and held hers_. _

"I sensed something in the salle, bright feather, but not tainted, I think, with blood magic."

"Companions don't make that kind of mistake!" Jeri stated flatly.

"_Through_ your weapon passed this girl, unharmed." Alberich replied tersely. "And Lord Orwen's sword. Him, killed she could have. And two weapons you have, embedded to the hilts in the salle floor, still. That is magery. And still we have not tested her for such. Mage-gift she has. Trained? Under compulsion, perhaps? Too lax, we have been." He pushed back his chair and stood, his face grim, his eyes on Elspeth. Elspeth, too, understood duty. She caught and held Jeri's arm as the former weaponsmaster gathered up the silken black cloak and strode out of the suite.

"Alberich taught us, twenty years before you, Jeri." Her voice firm. "He is not going to hurt that girl." But he might, Elspeth thought, a cold lump of misery forming under her heart. If Kahlen posed a threat to Valdemar, Alberich could indeed do just that. Had done harder things, to protect Queen and the Circle. 

"I know that!" Jeri hissed. "Elspeth, think! She's mage-gifted. She went into shock today, aborting that attack on Orwen. If Alberich panics her, drives her into defending herself -"

"I _understand the risk_." Elspeth said quietly. "I learned it from that man who just walked out of here." The weaponsmaster stared at her in growing dismay. "It's why he went alone -"

"But he is no mage, bright feather." Darkwind interjected. "Jeri is right in this, I think. He should not have gone alone." 

Trevyan nodded grim agreement. "Best to follow, featherless son." He said cautiously.

* * * *

Kahlen's late night ride through Companion's Field ended back to the bridge near the palace grounds. She slipped down and leaned against Rand for a moment, breathing in his warm scent, then sighed and headed back to the herald-trainee quarters. A wordless whisper of subdued affection followed her as they parted company. Her muscles ached and she wanted a hot soak, but her mind was oddly rested. The light shining through the open doors of the salle caught her eye, though, and after a moment she sighed and turned that way and approached the building. She had unfinished business there, after all.

__

I should wait – at least to eat something. Josseran had shown her the pantry, just of the kitchen, where Mero left an assortment of bread, cheese, sausages and fruits for any herald or trainee who was hungry after hours, and her stomach felt hollow. She'd developed a liking for Valdemaran bread rolls over the past few weeks. But the younglings had weapons practice first, most mornings. They didn't need to stumble over what she'd left embedded in the wooden training floor. Kahlen sighed again, thinking of bread and cheese, and walked into the structure. Several bracketed torches were still lit against the far wall.

She walked over to the center of the practice floor and stared uneasily at the sword and dagger hilts, rigid against the wood planks. Almost, she'd put them both through Lord Orwen's throat, the arrogant fool. Yet a spasm of guilt shot through her. He'd done no more than his duty. And she'd done nothing to explain why she'd refused to – dared not – spar. She'd beaten the conditioning, but next time – she held Rand's promise to her heart, like a talisman. Kneeling, she grasped the dagger, focused her mind, called the _na'dia_ flows, and _pulled_. The dagger came free, releasing its grip on the wood. It took three tries to persuade the sword to do the same, and the places they'd gone in pulsed a dull red for a few moments, before fading to dark, charred scars. She released the flows, then dropped to her knees, gasping, and waited for the backlash to ease. _Too drained, I should have eaten._ Bile rose in her throat, and for one desperate moment Kahlen thought she'd disgrace herself. Slowly, the nausea subsided. She used the sword to lever herself to her feet, then turned to put the weapons back on the rack.

"Keep them, perhaps, you should." The tall, grey-clad man who'd first questioned her stepped out of the shadows. "But tonight test you I will not." Herald Alberich, she recalled numbly. The former weaponsmaster, who still taught select older trainees. Who'd questioned her, mind to mind, when Sethren had – Sethren. The quiet grieving that never truly left her swelled suddenly, until she feared she'd choke on it. The herald came closer, eyes glittering in the dim torchlight, and ran a callused finger gently across her cheek. "Sleeping, you are not. And should be. Too dark are the shadows here. The healer's you should not have left. Searching for you they were, until your Companion bade them halt."

Kahlen watched him uncertainly. "Of hidden things we need to speak. Again, of why your comrade brought you here, and to what purpose." He raised a hand to forestall her outburst. "The truth you told me, I do not doubt. But truths did you withhold, that perhaps you dare not trust a stranger with, or importance did not know. Companion have you now." He stated quietly, as if she'd passed a threshold of honor, or some kind of test. "And no dishonor, nor ill intent, have I seen in you nor heard of since your coming. Yet danger do you represent, and this I must know, and render safe. And this, also, you must explain." He held out a neatly folded cloth bundle, black save where nine gold circlets glinted in the torchlight, and a red wolf's head stared implacably out of the dark.


	6. Interrogation

Disclaimer - Valdemar, Heralds and Companions are the works of Mercedes Lackey, and remain her sole and personal property. Firechild Legacy is a derivative fanfiction work not intended for publication or profit. Kahlen belongs to me!

Profound thanks and kudos to engulfingdawn, Fireblade, Stee and tjal for reviews/encouragement on Ch. 5.

Stee, Rand bears a more than passing resemblance to Herald Randale, who was King in Vanyel's time. Virtual cookies if you can deduce why he'd Choose Kahlen.

Still need to revise Ch. 4 to match latest offering. And update Kahlen's age to 16 seasons, vs. 12. She looks like mid-twenties. That's what happens when you grow up in a really rough neighborhood.

Chapter 6 – Interrogation

__

I should never have stayed. I should have died in the river. It would have been easier. Mantra for half the night, Kahlen thought wearily, as she walked slowly beside Herald Alberich. Last night she'd backed away, then simply turned and left the salle rather than face the questions raised by the folded black cloth in his hand. And the memories. Away from the implied threat and bleak sympathy in the Herald's eyes. And Alberich had let her go. Back to her room in the herald-trainee's wing, her refuge and haven since the healers had cleared her for training. 

Joss had left a plate of bread rolls and sausage in her room, and a plaintive note that he'd missed her at supper. She forced herself to eat, then lay down and watched the moon drift past the window while cold tears ran down her face. She owed these people the truth. And she'd wanted, _needed_ to forget. She must have drifted into sleep. The gray light sifting through the window had roused her just before true dawn, and exhaustion had spared her any dreams. She'd forced herself to wash, dress and head down to the meal hall. The trainees on duty had plied her with eggs, sausage, and bread spread generously with a soft cheese. She'd taken the tray, slid into a seat next to Joss, then nibbled listlessly at the bread. The boiled eggs had congealed on her plate. Joss had watched her for several moments with growing concern. After a moment he'd simply reached over and ladled some of his boiled oats onto her plate, then topped it with a generous measure of honey.

"You eat, or no desert tonight." He shoved a tankard of milk at her, and watched sternly while she drank.

Kahlen had met his implacable eyes for a moment, then smiled in surrender and began eating. She'd managed three bites when Joss glanced up behind her, eyes widening. She didn't need to look. She pushed back, stood up on shaking legs, then turned to meet Alberich's gray, measuring eyes. He nodded, then gestured that she follow. Almost, the boy slid out of his chair to follow, a bread roll clutched in his hand. A shadow moving across the table caught the boy's attention.

"Leave it alone, Joss." Herald Evan said quietly. "Alberich isn't going to let her starve, after all." The boy looked at him stubbornly. "The Circle needs information." He added gently. 

Joss looked away, frowning. Kahlen needed a friend, he thought stubbornly. 

* * * * 

The girl sat, closed and withdrawn, at the large, rectangular table in the side council chamber. Alberich studied the others present. All save Treyvan were here, that had met with Sejanes the previous day, with the addition of a quiet, blue-eyed woman in whites who leaned unobtrusively against the back wall and met his eyes briefly. They waited now only for the old mage to join them. Alberich sat across from the girl, his eyes grave, his face unreadable. Despite the reservations of Weaponsmaster Jeri, Alberich's heart ached for her. He had not forgotten the suspicion he'd first lived under when Kantor first brought him here. A Karsite Captain, saved from his own people by a "demon" horse out of Valdemar, hereditary enemy of the very people he'd been chosen to protect. Selenay, King Sendar, and Monarch's Own Talamir had been the only ones who'd trusted him in those early days. He recalled the long misery of being forced to stand by during those first few years in Haven, then during the Tedrel Wars, while his herald-trainees rode south into the bloodbath on the border. Kahlen's face was a frozen mask – and he thought he knew very well what might lay behind it.

Alberich was not surprised when Sejanes entered accompanied by Queen's Own Herald Talia. The small, dark-haired woman took in the gathering, then nodded briefly to Elspeth, who smiled and relaxed a fraction. Kahlen glanced indifferently at the small woman dressed in pristine dress Whites, then looked away. Elspeth watched her narrowly. If anything, she was drawing even deeper into her own thoughts, and her shields were up…and hard as granite. 

Sejanes looked curiously at the girl, then at the princess. At Elspeth's nod, he recounted his conjectures and speculations from the day before. Kahlen sat quietly, saying nothing, her face pale and strained. When Sejanes finished, every eye on the room turned to her. _:Rand_?_:_ He was there, a comforting, trusting presence in the back of her mind_. _But he could not do this thing for her. 

"Master Sejanes is essentially correct." Kahlen said quietly. "Most of us – the mage-bred – did not know our parentage. We were placed in training cohorts of ten children each as soon as we could follow simple commands. We lived and trained together for seven seasons. My cohort -" She closed her eyes. "We were matched against each other, in the beginning. Simple matches, basic hand weapons, but training only. Mage training came later." Her voice had a dead, wooden quality. "Then the cohorts were disbanded, and death matches started when we were ten." She nodded to Jeri, but would not meet the woman's compassionate eyes. "As I told you. My first match was against Chansin. A small boy, about my age." Her fingers went to the first disk on the cloak lying bundled on the table. The _I'nazadi_ were…selective. They wanted us well matched, you see."

"Why?" Jeri asked, horrified. She didn't expect an answer. There could be no answer for such a thing. Kahlen would not meet her eyes.

"To ensure maximum potential, among the survivors." The girl replied softly. "Chansin… panicked. Not because he feared me, but because of what he was expected to do.   
I took three fire strikes before – well." Her face had gone gray under the bronzed skin. "Seven   
death matches I had. The teachers were very pleased, I think." She looked down at her arms, rubbed lightly at the fabric over her arms, then flexed her hands. "Then came Joram, and …we chose not to continue on the path they had set us. We broke the enclosing shield, but the backlash killed him." 

"How old were you, Kahlen?" The mage, Sejanes stared at her, appalled but fascinated.

"Almost twelve seasons." Her voice shook. 

"My ninth match was against Morren, who had been of my birth cohort. Again, we broke the shields, but the _I'nazadi_ struck him down before we could recover. I think is not dead. Our energies were exhausted. They did not expect, I think, that I would use a sword on a teacher – or that I would take him." A bleak smile crossed her face at the memory of that victory.

"I'nazadi. Just what does the word mean?" Elspeth asked, scribing the word on her tablet.

"_Lifemaker, _in your tongue." Kahlen answered, shivering. "Adepts with both Healing and Mage gift, who ply their craft in the making of new lifeforms, seeking to make or reshape them." 

"Sorcerer-adepts." Elspeth said shortly, glancing at Darkwind, who nodded grimly.

Kahlen nodded, and a bit of life came back into her voice. "Rand told me – in your histories – of an adept named Ma'ar, who was one such. And one called Urtho, who created gryphons." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Gryphons. I would like to see one, I think. The _I'nazadi_ play at such things – I do not think they have truly achieved that craft. But that they crafted us, seeking to bind us to their purposes – that I do believe."

"What happened after your last deathmatch." Alberich queried, his voice dangerously neutral.

She shrugged. "Too dangerous to keep, I was deemed. Taken away then, to have the mind paths burned away." Odd, Elspeth noted, how her language shifted to match Alberich's when he questioned her directly. Then the import of the girls words registered.

"They meant to burn out your mind channels."

Kahlen shrugged. "It mattered little to them. I would still have had the potential - could still be used for breeding stock. But the mage storms had grown stronger. The _I'nazadi _were pressed to find ways to prevent them, or barricade against them_. _They had no time to deal with me and thought toput that task on the regular mage corps." She finally looked at the people watching her, and her heart eased a bit. They were listening carefully. Jeri's face was tense with rage, but her eyes were sympathetic. Elspeth's was strained, but she was listening very carefully, and there was no anger or revulsion directed at _her_. 

"I was taken to Granite's gate for transfer to an imperial mage school, when a mage storm hit and challenged the gatemasters' control. Sethren had the gate duty that day - had held it through previous storms, despite the disruption waves, but even his strength was failing. Enough. I took the gate and held it while he renewed the channels and closed it. And -" She drew a deep, shuddering breath – "He challenged the _I'nazadi_ for me, and claimed me for his gateward."

Incredibly, Sejanes was chuckling. "Sethren Morrene? Young for a gatemaster, but brilliant. Innovative. Claimed you right out from under Charliss' elite mage guild?"

Kahlen nodded warily. "His gateward…did not care how I had come to be there. Only that I could help keep the gates stable, their work to ease. They took me, and trained me."_ Made me family. Loved me._ Her hands were shaking now. "Three years they kept me – safe. Then to Granite we went, following whispers of a plague risen there, that might trouble the empire should it spread through the gates. To see what else the _I'nazadi _had wrought. Worse it was, than rumored. Worst still, that it had escaped its makers and spread unchecked across the isle. Nine of ten who sickened died of it, and those surviving crippled and blind. Sethren ordered that we close the gates, lest this thing spread beyond Granite, and deny the passage of new gates. Three days, we held them, before the our strength began to fail, and Sethren fell ill. Then Drisae collapsed, and the others…burnt out. And Sethren ordered me – he ordered -" Her throat closed. She could not say it. She would _not_. _Five days, we held._ _No choice. No choice at Granite, no choice when he threw us here, to this place, that warning at least could be given. No choice when he found himself dying of that horror, bound only by the thin shields we contrived from the remnants of the gate that brought us here. _And what would these people say, did they know the whole truth?

"He was dying when he gated you here, and caught Josseran inside his shields." Evan said quietly. She nodded mutely. "And you kept the shields up, so that the disease couldn't spread. Even if it killed you and Josseran."

"I never caught it." She whispered. "We'd tried the blood infusion on Drisae, and others, before the Gate failed, and it seemed to work. I thought I could give Josseran immunity – I didn't know if I carried it as well. The Healer, Kevren has said - not."

Elspeth nodded, then swept the room, gathering the attention of the attendees. "I've seen the destruction at Granite, and some evidence of a plague swept through it. Apparently, when the gate there collapsed, much of the island was immolated." Kahlen flinched. Implacable, these heralds, in their duty and curiosity.

"He was already infectious then." For the first time, Talia spoke, her eyes focused intently on the girl. "The man that brought you here. Young Josseran said he was too far gone for the blood infusion to work."

Kahlen nodded, eyes closed. She startled when Talia's hand came down lightly on her shoulder. "You did rightly, Kahlen." The Queen's Own said quietly. "You are not the first Herald to do such a thing. And to spare Josseran, if it could be done."

"Sethren – Sethren asked that I try." Kahlen closed her eyes, and simply leaned against the woman. "I didn't know if it would work..."

Jeri reached for the water goblet near her left arm and drank, wishing angrily it was something stronger. She glanced the lean, scarred man in gray leather, then at the young woman in Talia's arms, with the blue glow of Alberich's truth spell, still shimmering about her face. And wished with all her heart that the light had vanished as soon as Kahlen had begun to speak.

"Will they come here, do you think?" Darkwind asked. "These _I'nazadi_?"

"I do not know, _M'hada_." Kahlen replied, meeting the Hawkbrother's brilliant blue eyes and according him a small bow of respect. "Sethren is dead, that they might have sought revenge against. We – those at Granite have long been bred and trained as weapons, but this sickness – not so long, I think. Six years it has been, since the storms first swept through the eastern lands, bringing the seeds of this sickness. Among the _I'nadazi_, the blame for the storms was accorded to Valdemar. I do not think they have forgotten. If they have the means to use this thing, while yet protecting the empire…"

"More likely these _I'nazadi_ are an renegade group within the empire's mages." Sejanes interjected, then glanced seriously around the room. "The empire has remained in considerable disruption since the mage storms ended. We've had no contact with the interior, and no new incursions in Hardorn. Left untended, the different mage factions may very well have splintered. It may be time, and past time, for the Alliance to send word to the Eastern Court of the true cause of the storms, and why they ended." He studied the young woman they'd brought into this room carefully. Her face was pale and strained, the amethyst eyes rimmed with exhaustion and grief. No need for more questions, he decided. Then another thought occurred to him.

"Child, your mage training." Sejanes asked gently. "Just how far had it progressed? You can build gates, and you were trained in battle magics. What other training did you receive?" She blinked at him, obviously not expecting such a question. "Herald-mages must have training to match their gifts. Do you know yours?" The pale blue light surrounding Kahlen's head and shoulders abruptly went out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alright, it's a little cruel. And a little short. But Kahlen's keeping some whopping secrets she's not about to tell – unfortunately.


	7. Ground and Center

Disclaimer - Valdemar, Heralds and Companions are the works of Mercedes Lackey, and remain her sole and personal property. Firechild Legacy is a derivative fanfiction work not intended for publication or profit. Kahlen belongs to me!

Profound thanks and kudos to engulfingdawn, Fireblade, Stee, tjal for reviews/encouragement on Ch. 5.

Revised Ch. 3 to match latest offering. And updated Kahlen's age to 16 seasons, vs. 12. She looks like mid-twenties. That's what happens when you grow up in a really rough neighborhood.

Chapter 7 – Ground and Center

"I'm sorry." Kahlen said uncertainly, taking in the startled faces around the table. "I didn't mean to frighten it." She closed her eyes, a slight frown of concentration on her face, and waited patiently. The blue light of the vrondi elemental slowly returned. "_Es'tenada, meloren_." She murmured. The words were gentle, like words spoken to a shy child. She raised a finger and a small, yellow light sprang up. The vrondi snuggled a bit closer, drinking the energy offered.

"You can see it?" Elspeth watched, amazed. Something about the girl's eyes, bent close to the elemental, unsettled her. Had the truthspell even worked?

"Always I see them." Kahlen replied softly, her hand dropping listlessly to the table. The small air element stirred, then abruptly left. "You asked of Gifts. That's one of them, if such a thing is counted among the Gifts here. To see the little elementals and… other beings from the ethereal planes. And to see the auras of those in this plane."

"Moved _through_ Lord Orwen's weapons, you did." Alberich spoke slowly. "This I wish to see."

"Alberich, no." Jeri leaned forward. "You didn't see – she almost killed him. She couldn't -"

Kahlen raised a shaking hand. "Rand said – he said he could help me. To fight with – with discernment. And that I have to learn your ways, now." She drew an uneven breath. "Some gifts I know. Mind-speech, Mage-craft, and the fires..." She looked uncertainly at the gathered faces.

"There is also Foresight." Alberich leaned forward, catching her eye. "And I foresee an interesting time for you, young Kahlen." He caught the standing woman's eye, and nodded. "Go you to your classes, now. In the salle you will meet me, at the first bell following the mid-day meal. Then with young Josseran, to meet your mage instructor. Him you will tell what training you have had, that plan your lessons to match your requirements, he can."

Talia sat back as the girl slowly rose, her hand still touching the young woman's arm. "Kahlen. It will take time for you to be at ease here, to feel at home. Please believe me when I say you _are_ home. You will have the time. Remember it, and come to me if you feel too uneasy, or simply need to talk."

Kahlen, hesitated, then gave Talia a shy nod and left the council chamber.

Selenay pushed away from the wall, and moved to take the empty seat. "Well, my friends." She spread her hands, palms up. "We have a new herald-mage. And apparently, a firestarter. I've also received reports from the healers that Kahlen healed remarkably well, given the severity of her burns – yet they take little credit for it. Kevren stated they did more good simple treating malnutrition and exhaustion. Kevren thought she might have the healing gift, but several of the senior healers tested her and found no sign of it. They're still looking for answers."

"Her hands." Evan murmured uneasily, and shifted in his seat. "Hardly any scarring. And I saw, when Ashton carried her up to the healers. Those burns were bone deep, Highness." He glanced solemnly at the others. "I've asked Dean Teren to recall Griffin from the field, to assist with her training." To Sejanes, "Herald Griffin's a firestarter, Master Sejanes."

Selenay nodded thoughtfully. She'd already thought of Griffin, the only other firestarter in the Circle, as a possible teacher for the girl.

The Queen turned to Alberich. "We've different a problem with Lord Orwen."

Alberich leaned back. "He has brought complaint against her?"

"No." Selenay rubbed her temples in exasperation. "He wants to spar with her. Idiot." _And I need him on the Council, damn him, not risking his neck dealing with an unknown quantity._ "Jeri. I understand he's been making himself useful in the salle, drilling the advanced student. Make sure the young fool doesn't break his neck. I'd appreciate keeping my councilors in one piece, if possible." The Queen's eyes went briefly to Alberich.

He nodded curtly. Lord Orwen could be kept busy enough to ensure the man did not get himself further embroiled. And Kahlen, he would test himself.

* * * * * 

Kahlen made it back to the dining hall before dropping into a chair, shaking with reaction, then dropped her face into her hands. _They didn't banish me_. She thought numbly. _No guards, even. How can they not -_

:You are my Chosen.: Rand's voice brushed gently across her mind. _:And you have half a bell to get ready for your next class.:_

Chosen. She'd never really thought what it meant, only that she had Rand. _A different kind of servitude, perhaps, but she'd owed these people. Yet how could they put their trust in someone who -_

"Companions choose the heart, love. And we choose for the future, not the past. I trust you. The Heralds have accepted you, or will in time. Selenay trusts you.:

A future. She'd never really expected one, not since Sethren – she closed her eyes against that grief. And Rand – it made her warm just listening to him. Heart brother, indeed. She looked slowly, carefully around the dining hall. The trainees on duty were clearing up the last of the morning's fare. Two of them, younglings both, paused to smile at her. She returned the shy smiles, and felt something ease around her heart. A future. Abruptly she reached for the apple bowl, snagged two yellow orbs, blushed with red. By the time she reached the doors leading to the Field, she was flying.

* * * * 

Rand watched in fascination from the back of Kalen's mind as she maneuvered for a better position. Orwen's sword, dancing slowly before her, failed to draw her eyes away from Jeri's sword as the weaponsmaster sought to draw her out. The woman swept her blade forward, moving sideways. Kahlen feinted to the right then lunged forward, just grazing the tip of Jeri's weapon, then lashed sideways with the practice weapon to score against Orwen's left side. The tumble continued, the girl rolling smoothly against the floor of the salle, rolling swiftly back to her feet, never pausing, one movement flowing into the next. She hit the wall with both feet and rebounded directly at Orwen, hands suddenly empty, reaching instead for his shoulders, grasping for anchorage, feet whipping forward as she pivoted, then brought them firmly into Jeri's back – but the weaponsmaster was no longer there.

The girl released Orwen, who was already turned, weapons moving in a arch. She landed hard, rolling, and came up with both her weapons unsheathed. _:Stop, love.:_ Kahlen froze in position, then obediently grounded her weapons and dropped cross-legged to the floor, then simply fought to pull in enough air. 

Lord Orwen dropped down beside her, breathing almost as hard. "All right?"

She nodded wordlessly, then slapped him on the shoulder. "You…getting faster." Her amethyst eyes went to the weaponsmaster, and a faint smile lit her face. "Almost…had you, Jeri."

"That you did, child." Jeri was panting, but that mad light was still in her eyes. Sparring with the girl went – beyond exhilarating, even with practice swords. Kahlen still shied away from practicing with live steel, but there was no question that she was able for it. Three months had wrought changes in the girl – all to the good, as far as the weaponsmaster was concerned. She smiled more, was more at her ease with the other trainees. She had several friends now, although young Joss seemed unusually close to her. Keren was satisfied with the girl's progress in equitation. Her weapons skill was oddly skewed to hand combat, though. She handled bows indifferently, though adequately. Right now the girl was soaked, though, and really needed to clean up before her next class. Jeri glanced at Alberich, who had watched quietly from a bench. The Senior weasponsmaster stood and came forward, his hand held down to the girl.

"Live steel." He said quietly. Kahlen's face went still. She'd learned to trust this quiet, scarred man, and had sparred with him several times. His speed did not quite match her own – but his experience far exceeded hers – and she was not ready for this. It didn't matter. He was the _m'hada_, or teacher, in this place. Alberich simply pulled her to her feet and waited quietly while she selected a light sword and dagger. When she reached for the box of blunted point guards, he shook his head. "Light armor only."

Jeri and Orwen moved to one side of the salle, Orwen's eyes alight with anticipation, Jeri's a trifle worried. Almost – she said something. Kahlen never saw the blow coming, only the sharp sting as the dagger was struck from her hand. Then she was stumbling back, fighting desperately to keep his blade away from her head, body, legs. No chance, here to take the initiative. She was tired and he was attacking as if – as if this were - _:Chosen, no!:_

Jeri saw it at once, the sudden shift in focus, the change from desperate defense to attack. She moved forward, panicking, but Orwen surged up and grabbed her arm, his face grim, his voice low. "Let the Herald work, Jeri, he knows what he's doing." _He'd better know._

Kahlen ignored the voice in her mind. This was death, on the blade facing her. Death, and something else. The Herald. Facing her. Heart brother, and _M'hada_. Yet she had killed them before, her heart brothers. _This is Alberich.- my teacher._ What matter? the cold voice in her head answered. She had killed a teacher, too, and with savage joy_. My brother. I …am …not_.

She pulled back, then threw herself backwards, casting her sword out of range, hands extended, fingers arched…. and the Alberich's sword clanged and broke against the curved, glowing shield that sprang up around her.

Alberich was sweating, but far from exhausted. Jeri went forward quickly, not quite touching the shield. "Kahlen!"

"I'm…well enough, _M'hada_." Kahlen knelt shakily on the salle floor, then glanced swiftly at the shield. "Don't touch it!" Quickly, she extended both hands, feeling cautiously for the power pattern, and carefully dissolved the structure.

"You don't complain, that pushed you beyond all good sense, I have?" Alberich queried her.

Kahlen shook her head, mute.

"Then perchance to clean up in the salle's washroom, Weaponsmaster?" He glanced at Jeri for permission, who nodded. "Before to your next class you go."

Kahlen nodded and climbed slowly to her feet, then scooped up her sword and racked it before heading for Jeri's quarters, the woman beside her. Jeri's face was livid – she'd have words for him later, he was sure.

"Herald Alberich." Lord Orwen glanced after the two women, uncertain of what he'd just seen. "The girl is good, but still – she's only first year. You could have -"

"First year she most certainly is not." Alberich said quietly. "Save for lacking classroom lessons, in Whites I would place her. Another matter, that is. As for her weapon craft - you will not spar with her, Lord Orwen, unless Jeri or I are here." He did not like the angry flush on the young Lord's face. "Too good you are, Orwen. Trained to kill, she had been. Conditioned to it." He gestured to the empty salle. "She did not shield against me for herself – but for _my_ sake. Caught off guard, or in battle heat -" He shook his head. "Selenay cannot spare you, Orwen. Too few men of sense, on the Council." The younger man relaxed a trifle.

"No sparring, then, save by your leave – or Jeri's." He conceded, then smiled. "She's fair game off the salle floor, though."

Alberich hesitated, frowning. "Noble born she is not, Orwen, nor of Valdemar. She does not know the game. Do not think of dalliance. She is not for your… entertainment."

Orwen's face grew dark. "I am head of my house." He snapped. "I don't need permission, save the Queen's, to make alliance where I choose. And Herald's Whites carry enough rank. As for wealth… " his anger faded, to be replaced by speculation. "She's mage-gifted. Dowry enough, should it breed true, don't you think?" He strode out then, leaving the Queen's Intelligencer, for once, at a complete loss for words.

* * * * * 

Kahlen arrived late at her next class, panting heavily from the run up the hill. Josseran caught up with her half-way there.

"Darkwind said he'd be late – some kind of embassy arrived this afternoon. We have some time yet." She nodded gratefully to the boy, then pulled an apple from her book bag and offered him half. The boy smiled, then bit into his share with every evidence of enjoyment. They paced themselves up the hill, where three other students were waiting. Two were herald-trainees, and one was in the dark orange robes of a mage-trainee.

Kahlen looked them over and sighed. She was eldest, it seemed, and due for a spot of child minding.

"We have some time yet, before the _M'hada_ can join us." Joss grinned. He'd picked up a smattering of her home tongue, in those interminable three days they'd been trapped together within her shields. He knew, at least, that _M'hada_ meant 'honored teacher.' 

"Some basics, perhaps?" At their chorused groans, she grinned, assumed a stern expression, and pointed. "Joss. Ground and center." He flashed her a cheerful smile, then did so. She "bumped" him, felt the boy's shields shift a bit, then settle firmly. "Excellent. Now you, Julia." The girl followed suit, chewing her lip in concentration. Meric and Donan managed in turn, then all looked at her expectantly. Sighing, she grounded and centered herself, as Darkwind had taught her, and let them batter against her shields, trying to off balance her. 

She'd argued with Darkwind about it for days, trying to explain. Her training had been different. She'd finally given up trying to explain that she'd been trained otherwise, that her instructors had insisted she ground… elsewhere. But he was kind, and competent, and she'd managed to master the earth grounding. 

Julia and Meric were still tapping at her shields, but Joss' and Donan's had turned away, staring up with growing apprehension. She turned, stiffened, and threw up a shield enclosing all the children. Joss yelped in surprise, but quickly gathered the others away from the walls. 

I left my weapons in the salle. Kahlen ran away from the shield, trying to watch ground and the creature dropping swiftly toward her.

"Kahlen, don't!" 

That shrill cry penetrated. She glanced uncertainly at Joss, then dropped into a defensive position, hands raised, as the creature landed in a maelstrom of dust and debris, ruffled it's massive wings, and regarded her curiously.

"Wellll, my dearrrr." It said in strangely accented Valdemaran. "Darkwind asked me to supervise today's lessssonn, as he has been detained." The head towered several feet above her shoulder. Bronze feathers shifted gently in the breeze cresting the hill, Kahlen stared, mesmerized, into the huge, dark eyes brimming with intelligence and good humor. "I am Treyvan, envoy for k'Lesha, and I will be your teacher for this lesson."

Kahlen moved a trifle closer. "You're – you're not – who made you, sir."

The wings lifted a trifle. "The great Urtho. He made the gryphons, the kyree, the hertasi – many others." The large, raptor's head cocked sideways, studying her closely. "And who made you, little one?"

"The _I'nadazi,_ Soren." She answered softly. "But I look to Valdemar now."

"Then we are well met, child. Tell me, now, what you have learned."

Please! Please R&R! Too short? To many transitions?


	8. Social Complications

Disclaimer - Valdemar, Heralds and Companions are the works of Mercedes Lackey, and remain her sole and personal property. Firechild Legacy is a derivative fanfiction work not intended for publication or profit. Kahlen belongs to me!

Chapter 8 – Social Complications

Lady Maeve of Ravencroft was not pleased. Her arrival at Haven had gone unannounced, as she preferred. She needed time to think carefully, and to gather additional facts about this herald-trainee that seemed to have stolen her son's wits. Common-born, by all accounts. Worse, a foreigner. She was not deceived by the motives behind several messages that had arrived at her country seat, presenting her with these facts. Families seeking a marriage alliance with Ravencroft were quick to play the game, and even quicker to close ranks against a perceived, outside threat. It would have been amusing, if it had been anyone but her son, Lord Orwen. Orwen had a duty to the Crown. He stood high in the Queen's favor, and still held a Captain's commission in the Royal Guards. And there were several families in the nobility who'd sounded her out about strengthening trade alliances with closer kin ties. So far, Orwen had avoided making any commitments, or even being brought to table, to discuss the possible advantages.

Maeve had sent her own bailiff to inform the Seneschal of her arrival. She would be making her courtesies to Selenay at tomorrow's court, and had begged the favor of a private audience at the Queen's convenience. Selenay was a sensible woman. She'd know best how to wean Orwen away from this … infatuation. As a practical matter, a herald had no time for marriage, much less the duties of the nobility. The Queen would surely understand.

Josseran was not happy. He continued with his assigned task, collecting fresh herbs from the gardens for the Collegium's cook, Mero, but all his attention was fixed on the two young noblewomen seated on a stone bench nearby. Lady Jerolyn and Lady Ista were court favorites, he knew, and neither particularly inclined to gossip. But they were gossiping now, and every word made his blood boil.

"He's making a fool of himself over that common-born herald-trainee." Ista sighed with exasperation. "And he hasn't offered to escort me to the Harvest Feast this harvest and Sovvan less than a month away!"

Jerolyn gave her a curious look. "Captain Ashton asked you, didn't he?"

Ista flushed. "I haven't said yes. I keep hoping …but if Orwen's not attending Council, he's in the salle, sparring with his newest…protege."

"Orwen shouldn't encourage her." Jerolyn was dark-haired, with sultry green eyes and a vivacious smile. She wasn't smiling now. "It's cruel, and will only embarrass them both in the end. She's pretty enough, I suppose." Josseran ducked his head to hide a smile. Kahlen was beyond beautiful, in his estimation. Her hair was silver by moonlight, but palest gold in the sun, and hung in a thick, braided rope down her back. Her eyes were a deep amethyst, with odd flecks of gold when the light caught them just right. Her face was lean, the cheekbones high and sculpted, the brows winged bronze. Beside Kahlen, these two looked bleached out and insipid.

"Lady Maeve won't give a fake copper for that." Ista retorted. "She has plans for our Lord Orwen. He's on Council now, and has the Queen's eye. Selenay won't waste him on a commoner, Jero, even if it is one of her precious heralds. I'd heard she has him on liaison duty with the Taleydras delegation that arrived yesterday – a little diplomatic seasoning for our young hero. He's to attend them at a formal reception tonight." 

"Yes." Jerolyn's eyes narrowed. "It might open his eyes if he were to see her in company with the court – and among her betters." The young woman rose. "I think, my dear, we'd best have a word with Lade Maeve."

Joss held his peace as they walked away, but his mind was awhirl with anxiety. Few in the court had paid much attention to Kahlen, as few in the nobility had actually been at Court when she'd so precipitately arrived. Their three day ordeal after she'd literally fallen out of the sky in Companion's Field had captured the heralds' interest, and that of the healers, but few nobles had been at court that week, nor in the week that followed. Not in the thick of the harvest season, and certainly not those two. Once chosen, most had likely dismissed Kahlen as simply one of the several chosen on the eve of the new schooling year. 

The boy's hands grew suddenly still, as several things occurred to him. They didn't know, save perhaps for Lord Orwen. They didn't know that Kahlen had come from the far side of the eastern empire. Did they even know she was mage-gifted? Did the heralds _want_ them to know? It was not his problem, the boy finally decided. What was his problem was that two high ranking noblewomen had taken a exception to his Kahlen, and were planning ….

"Mischief." Gaytha, the housekeeper who oversaw the trainee's quarters and their personal needs, told the boy, her eyes narrowed in anger. "Plain mischief, Josseran, no more. We've a request for trainees to serve at the reception tonight for the Taleydras delegation that arrived last evening. Lady Maeve specifically requested Julia and Kahlen to attend her and her ladies." The woman closed her eyes, sifting back through the schedules of classes of the double dozen new trainees, and sighed. Kahlen had not been scheduled for the classes in social graces. Yet the girl was innately well mannered, even gracious when she was not dragging in dead tired from the training regime Herald Alberich was putting her through. The housekeeper frowned. She needed to talk to that man about the girl's schedule. In the meantime, there _was_ something she could do.

"Do you have a preference, child?" 

Kahlen stared blankly at the array of clothing choices laid out on her bed. "My regular grays aren't suitable?" 

She listened carefully as Gaytha explained the duties that would be expected of her and Julia this evening. Julia, who'd been asked to step into Kahlen's room by the redoubtable housekeeper, listened with appalled fascination. Her face was flushed and angry by the time Gaytha had explained the need for discretion, and the likelihood of an attempt to embarrass the older girl. 

First was the request that she serve at the court on such short notice, despite having received no training on court protocols. At least Josseran had alerted the housekeeper in time to provide her with suitable clothing. "You have several choices, my dear." Gaytha said. "You can wear dress grays, for one. This set is near enough your size that I can have it tailored in time. It was made for Lady Elspeth when she was a trainee, and the fabric's a bit finer than most. There are also several formal dresses, which we keep on hand for our female trainees for such occasions. Your attire need not outshine these nobles, only be of sufficient quality to leave no cause for censure."

Kahlen frowned, and fingered the dress grays, and a tremor passed through her. They were of _silk_ – and of a quality she'd not seen before in Valdemar. Her heart beat a little faster. Pure, the fabric seemed, and unspelled. And they offered it freely, not reckoning its worth to the mage-born. "Why?" Kahlen asked quietly. "I am not exceptional. Why should this Lady Maeve seek to create this – this confrontation?"

Julia turned to her in surprise. "Lord Orwen's mother? Kahlen, think! He's in the salle, practically every time you have lessons. He's spars with you every chance he can." She flushed an even deeper red. "He's left off spending time with any of the noble ladies at court. It's starting to get noticed."

"Lord Orwen?" Kahlen's expression would have been comical, if she hadn't looked so stricken. "Orwen has been of great help to me in learning the ways of Valdemar…"

"Lord Orwen is making a fool of himself." Gaytha put in tartly. "Unless you're …inclined toward him, perhaps?"

"Inclined?" Kahlen looked from Gaytha to Julia in confusion, then blushed fiercely. "No!" Her stomach roiled in confusion. Such matters had been proscribed, save as directed by her _I'nadazi_ masters. And Sethren … the old grief was there, still. But Sethren Morrene had loved her as a younger sibling. Kahlen had once dreamed of more, but anything they might have shared had died in the plague that destroyed Granite. Unnerved, her mind reached out to Rand. 

His reply was gentle, and a bit amused _:Such matters are entirely your choice, Chosen.: _

Gaytha smiled. "Well then. Should you become so inclined – for Lord Orwen, or for any other young man at court, please come and speak to me beforehand. There are precautions – for heart and body -"

"Please, no!" Embarrassment had given way to a very real distress. Gaytha blinked. She was accustomed to reticence with many of the younger herald-trainees, but Kahlen had seemed older, more self aware than most. But not, it seemed, knowledgeable in matters of the heart – or in dalliance. This changed matters. If Lord Orwen were actively pursuing the girl, thinking her fair game – he would have to be warned off. She would speak to one of the Herald instructors.

"Of course, child," she answered gently. 

Julia, too, had opted for dress grays. Hers had been a gift from her parents at last Midwinter Feast, and tailored to her measure. She had a fleeting regret that there was not time to do the same for her friend, but the apparel Gaytha had managed was at least a decent fit. A smiled flickered across the girl's face as she rapped on Kahlen's door. "Kaylen, let me in. I've brought ribbons -" She gasped as the door was pulled open and Kahlen grasped her hand and pulled her quickly inside.

"Well?" The older girl demanded, her face flushed, her eyes glinting.

Julia stared in amazement at her friend. The dress grays had been _changed_ somehow. They fit perfectly now, and had been subtly altered in both style and color. The gray tunic's piping had been reworked with braided silver thread, with tiny flashes of blue worked into the shimmering gray silk. The skirts gleamed, sweeping from dark grey at the waist to almost black at the hem. Kahlen's boots had been polished to a high sheen, and her hair pulled back and worked into a thick, intricate braid. What caught and held Julia's eye, however, was the large, impossibly deep amethyst focus stone that rested on a thick silver chain at the girl's throat, and lent color to cheeks and lips.

"Where did you …" 

Kahlen glanced down. "I brought it with me. It was …" a shadow crossed her face and lingered in her eyes, "a gift from my gateward." 

The younger girl examined her carefully, then grinned and rubbed her hands briskly together. "You'll do, Kahlen. You'll more than do. Now sit down." Kahlen sat patiently while Julia carefully worked the black silk ribbons into her braid. They checked each other's appearance, then walked swiftly from the trainee's wing and reported to the steward. 

Julia noted with satisfaction the dismay on Lady Ista's face when they entered the reception hall and took their assigned places. Josseran, she was relieved to note, was also on reception duty. The boy was neatly fitted out in dress grays modeled after Heraldic Whites. His eyes went swiftly to the gathering of court ladies, then back to Kahlen and Julia, and he smiled briefly in satisfaction. Both girls did the heralds proud, but Kahlen outshone even his expectations. Grinning broadly, he nodded to two of the queen's pages and directed the boy to begin serving the small foods and drinks. 

Kahlen sighed uncomfortably. As best Gaytha had explained, she and Julia were to be little more than ornaments at this affair. They would direct the pages if it proved needful, but would perform no actual serving duties. They were to act as hostesses and dinner companions for the younger members of the delegation, and speak politely when spoken to.

She studied the gathering carefully. Treyvan had spoken with pleasure of the members of this delegation, many of whom were old friends. One, a Taleydras adept, had been instrumental in deflecting and ending the mage storms several years ago, and had been mentor to both Lady Elspeth and Adept Darkwind. She hoped to meet him, and to find an opportunity to discuss the grounding techniques she'd been unable to explain to Darkwind. 

"Come." The young noblewoman who'd come to stand before her was frowning. Kahlen studied the woman curiously, then nodded and followed her toward the gathering of richly dressed courtiers. "Lady Maeve, Lord Devin, may I present -" She eyed Kahlen dubiously, as if uncertain of how to present her. Kahlen's eyes narrowed. 

"Herald-mage trainee Kahlen Morrene." She offered quietly, and sent a small pulse of energy through her mage stone, making it flare briefly. Lady Ista glanced sharply at the oval shaped pendant, and stepped back uncertainly.

"So. This is Orwen's young protégé." Lady Maeve regarded the reserved young woman before her with growing curiosity. Whatever she was, she was no commoner. And a herald mage trainee? No one had thought to mention that fact. Mages were rare yet in Valdemar, even among the Chosen. Her estimation of the girl began to change.

"Lord Orwen has been very gracious in assisting with my training, Lady Maeve." Kahlen replied, giving the woman a half curtsey. She could see the resemblance between this regal, stern woman of middle years, and her son.

"Training?" Lord Devin moved to offer her a glass of wine. The man was young, dark-haired, with black eyes and a sardonic smile. She'd seen him several times in Lord Orwen's company, but had not known his name. "I understand you've been …sparring with him." Several of the nobles exchanged knowing glances.

Kahlen accepted the glass, and met the man's dark eyes, her own unreadable. "Herald Alberich limits my sparring partners, Lord Devin." She replied calmly. "I may only spar with him, with Weaponsmaster Jeri, and Herald-Captain Kerowyn, I may also practice with Captain Ashton and Lord Orwen, but only with a Herald present."

The man's look changed from amusement to puzzlement. "Indeed. Does he think so highly of your skill then, child?"

Kahlen gave him a smile with no mirth in it. "Hardly. My early training was …intense. Injuries and death were not uncommon." She shrugged. "It is different here, in Valdemar. Herald Alberich prefers that trainees not injure or kill each other." She would _not_ discuss Rand's calming influence before these people.

"You're from outkingdom, then, Trainee Kahlen?" Lady Maeve asked, her eyes unusually bright.

"Indeed." She sampled the wine, slowly, then set it down on a nearby table and turned her attention back to Lady Maeve. "Is there aught else, Lady?"

"There most certainly is." The woman said sternly. "Are you aware that my son -"

"Is here." Lord Orwen said sharply, coming to his mother's side. He gave Kahlen a plaintive look, then turned to regard his mother with barely suppressed anger. "I do apologize for my late arrival, mother. The seneschal had several questions regarding tomorrow's arrangements for our guests." He took the woman's arm and turned her, then nodded toward the far doors. 

Kahlen also turned, with no little relief at this timely interruption to what had been well on its way to a full-blown inquisition. She smiled as the gryphon envoy, Treyvan, entered. Beside him walked two strangers. Outkingdom, indeed, these two. One wore a – she could only call it a costume, in layered colors of creme and gold silk. A white streak ran through his jet black hair, which fell past his waist, and his eyes were kind. The other was even more exotic, in deep reds, gold and black, with a mask of finely hammered gold, intricately patterned over thin, black leather. Brilliant blue eyes gazed serenely out of it. The mouth was – scarred, she realized suddenly. As were his hands and forearms. Burn scars, she realized, old and faded. A large, white-plumaged bird rode in state on his left shoulder, trailing a shower of mage sparks. Her curiosity piqued, Kahlen ventured a few steps closer. The envoy's hair was brilliant white. Mage-born, she realized, and something about the man was oddly familiar. Treyvan nodded amiably to her, then paused to speak briefly to his companions. 

Kahlen hesitated a moment, then invoked mage-sight. Treyvan glowed his familiar golden brown, with the complex patterns of light that bespoke his status as a master mage. The dark-haired envoy glowed a soft blue-green. Healer, or very like to one, she thought absently. She looked again at the exotic, white-haired envoy – and the man's aura flared white with a brilliance that nearly blinded her. Energy patterns, red and an intense green wove an intricate pattern through the sheer white fire that surrounded him. Her own aura flared in response and warding – she stepped back a pace, then two, fighting the impulse to turn and run. 

__

I'nadazi. 

For a moment, rage and despair threatened to choke her. The mage stiffened suddenly. The masked face whipped toward her, and his shields flared white in instinctive reaction, enveloping the gryphon and his companion. Hers responded, springing out in pale amethyst, encasing herself, the nobles gathered around Lord Orwen, and the two Herald-trainees. She did not reach for weapons that were not there – against such power, such shields, steel was a faint hope, not a weapon.

A touch on her wrist made her start, and almost scream. "Kahlen?" It was Josseran, his eyes troubled and confused. _:Kahlen, it's all right. There's no threat here, I swear it.:_

:He is I'nadazi!: But Josseran could hear the uncertainty in her mind-voice. Coupled with fear, for him and the others present, that had her trembling like a drawn bow. _Trained battle-mage_, he recalled. _Oh Gods…_

:He is Adept Firesong, the Tayledras envoy, and a guest of the Queen.: The boy responded firmly. _:He. Is. No. Threat.: _

:Chosen.: Rand's mind caught and held hers, implacably. _:Kahlen, the boy is right. Master Firesong is a long-time ally and friend to Valdemar. Lower your shields.:_

Almost, Kahlen rebelled. Yet she had never seen an I'nadazi so attired, or in such company. And he had not attacked, only watched her with a wary caution that bespoke extreme patience – or extreme confidence. She risked a glance as Josseran, then at Julia, who was plainly terrified – of her. Grimly, she lowered her shields and watched in amazement as the white haired mage did the same. 

Treyvan came forward slowly, his crest raised in tension. _:Kahlen – are you well, child? Your shields -: _The gryphon watched her with growing unease. Her shields were lowered, but her aura was pulsing unevenly.

__

:No.: She answered, then, "I need to leave now, before -" Too late. The red clad mage had approached them, his eyes intent and challenging.

"So, Treyvan. This is your new student?"

"Indeed." The gryphon answered. The great raptor's head cocked sideways, watching her carefully. "Kahlen, may I make you known to Healing-Adept Firesong, and his mate, Kestra'chern Silverfox?"

Kahlen looked from one to the other, her panic growing. "Excuse me." She said abruptly, then turned and walked swiftly out of the reception hall.

Firesong stared after the young woman with narrowed eyes. Almost, he had attempted a forced reading through her shields. Almost, he had done the unthinkable in response to the threat he'd sensed – and the sudden surge of raw, elemental power. And in these close quarters, unshielded as they were, the results would have – he closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe deeply, slowly, as Silverfox had taught him. Selenay would not have appreciated crisped courtiers. The image brought a sudden burst of laughter. _Gods, I almost..._

" _'Ashke,_ are you well?" Silverfox' eyes were on him, and worried. The Kaled'a'in touched his wrist at the pulse point, then frowned. "What did she do to you?"

"I don't know." Firesong answered softly. Slowly, he brought his energy flows back into balance, and regained a measure of composure. "Caught me off-guard, and that is a thing that has not happened since my apprentice days." He turned serious eyes on the gryphon. "So, old friend. Why, think you, Selenay requested us?"

Treyvan cocked his head toward the two, then looked toward the double doors through which Kahlen had fled. He considered intervening nobles, all carefully not-listening, and wished fretfully that Lady Elspeth and Darkwind were here. _:Because my student is from out-kingdom, and came here by way of a single gating – from the far side of the empire. Her comrade did not survive the journey, and when the Farseers scried it, the place they came from looked like a mage-storm had taken it.:_

Firesong's eyes widened behind his ornate mask. "Indeed. Then perhaps we should -" He felt it then – a disturbance in the ley lines that fed Valdemar's heartstone – and a lash of power that he – almost – recognized. And he was running, Treyvan and Silverfox in his wake, his mind already reaching out for Elspeth and Darkwind. Beyond the Palace steps, power trembled in the sky, flashed crimson against the night, and struck the dark earth. _:Elspeth, guard the Queen! Darkwind, to me.:_
Kahlen felt the power even as she fled toward Companion's Field. _:Rand!:_ The Companion waited by the fence, his head turned skyward, following the power signature. Lightning flashed suddenly through a cloudless night sky, searing the stars, a wild Gate ripping through the heavens, tearing down, into the field. _:The Companions!:_ She didn't stop to think – no time – only reached, pulled, and _held_. The force of it crushed her to her knees, and her vision went red, then black. 
__

:Chosen – hold fast!: And power came. A trickle at first, then a rush, then a torrent. Kahlen cried out, then grasped the power flowing from Rand – and from others of the Companion herd. The Gate fought her, then slowly began to yield. _Focus. Hold_. It burned in her, _through_ her, raging for control. She fought it, called to it, her mind bending, flexing it into patterns that could be guided, given strength enough. 

__

:I can't hold it!: And yet more power came, unasked for, questing, merging flawlessly with her own. Kahlen pulled at the Gate, coaxed it, and finally felt it hesitate, yield, and come to rest against her shaking hands. _Gate – then shield_. The gifted strength pulled back then, slowly, gently. Something fell through the Gate, fell _into_ her shields, releasing the Gate back into the Void. The black-garbed figure within her shield groaned softly, then pulled off the faceless helm.

And Kahlen stared, white faced and shaking, at Drisae. Gatemaster and guardian. Friend and brother. She sank back onto the ground, dropping her ravaged hands to her knees, and stared at him in disbelief. Felt his wavering shields rise to match her own and seal against them, locking into irrevocable place. Sealing her out. "Dris?" It came out a hoarse whisper. "Drisae!"

Drisae shuddered, then pushed himself into a sitting position. The dark eyes were rimmed in shadows, and his face was pale, too pale. He coughed weakly, and fought to look beyond the shields. And she saw the bruising on his face and neck, the discoloration about his mouth, and could have wept with frustration and grief.

"Firechild." His voice was hoarse, and a scarce above a whisper. "Is Sethren…"

She shook her head, her eyes blurring with tears. Drisae had taken the infusion, had fought off the plague – or so she had thought. She'd hoped – prayed – that he had escaped the horror that had been Granite, and perhaps the others of her ward..

"I followed his gate pattern, hoping…" he shook his head, then groaned. "Kahlen, I haven't much time."

"No." She said hoarsely. "They've healers here – Dris, they have to _try_!" Because he would die, as Sethren had died, and she couldn't bear it.

He laughed softly, his eyes dark with regret. "I won't risk a healer…I came for Sethren – and for you, Firechild, if all else failed. In hopes that you could fight this plague, as you fought the one before it. And to warn you. We failed, at Granite. My group was captured, the survivors taken. Those who created it were…much unsettled, that we had not succumbed. They made changes – made it worse, if such a thing were possible. And I fear – I fear it has spread, beyond the control of those who made it. It may be loose, even now, in the empire. And they will loose it here, against the storm makers. They have little to lose now, and they are desperately afraid." He coughed again, and this time blood stained his narrow face. His eyes passed over her, grew wide at the sight of the Heralds gathering behind her. One dark brow raised in fleeting humor.

"So, Sethren made it, after all. And you, Firechild… have you found a home here?"

Kahlen felt, rather than saw the Healer Kevren drop down beside her. And the white-haired mage who'd fed her power, at the last. Both watched her carefully, but made no move to interfere. 

"Dris, let me in." She said it firmly, hoping even now that he would relent. Her hands flared with power as she withdrew her shields. Dris eyed her with a world of regret. And drew a dagger from his belt, then calmly slashed it across his left wrist. 

She was moving before he completed the stroke, screaming, pounding recklessly against his shields. The healer Kevren moved with her, one hand clutching her shoulder, his face blanched in horror. And Kahlen _phased_, through the shield, desperate to reach Dris. She had not meant to drag the healer through the shields with her. Had not meant to fall, sideways, against the gatemaster's faltering grip as he attempted to shift the weapon to his left hand. Had not meant to fall, hard, against the weapon that buried itself between her ribs, shocking her with the cold length of it, and the lethal promise carried in Dris' blood that yet stained it to the hilt.

* * * *

A/N – Please R&R. Too slow? Too fast? Virtual chocolate for reviewers – the good stuff! Also repost Chaps 1 through 4, mostly cleanups.


	9. Into the Crucible

Disclaimer - Valdemar, Heralds and Companions are the works of Mercedes Lackey, and remain her sole and personal property. Firechild Legacy is a derivative fanfiction work not intended for publication or profit. Kahlen belongs to me!

Kudos to my reviewers! I REALLY get inspired by R&R feedback hint, hint

Fireblade – Yes, it was evil of me – and no, Dris' blood wasn't poisoned – it was infected evil grin, with worse to come.

Kathleen – Thanks so much for the feedback – will try to keep you coming back – please let me know if you spot any loose ends…

Ironfish – will rework Ch. 8 in a bit and clarify some things. Kahlen sensed that Firesong has the same gifts as the _I'nadazi_ – the eastern empire adepts who had created her as part of a specialized breeding program, as well the blood-plague. Think bio-WMD, Velgarth style. Kahlen panicked, thinking he was one of them. Only her Companion kept her from attacking him in the middle of the reception.

Cat – As always, you give me good guidance. Will watch the pacing…

Darkfyre, will work on the gryphon speech patterns – and the action scenes!

Corrupted-innocent – Thanks! There is no prequel. I haven't killed Kahlen off (no guarantees g. The eastern empire was where Tremane (Mage-Storm Trilogy) comes from. Alberich has an unusual speech syntax (Exile's Honor) that Kahlen tends to mimic when she's talking to him. Her own speech syntax is similar, since she didn't grow up speaking Valdemaran, either. An'desha is probably in the Dhorisha Plains (again, Mage Storms). Silverfox is Firesong's lifemate (no, they're not lifebonded, and he was introduced in the Mage Winds Trilogy and reprised in Mage Storms) 

Chapter 9 – Into the Crucible

Kevren staggered with the shock of the sudden transition, and fought to keep from passing out. Every muscle screamed agony, and his vision faded into a red mist. When he could see again, he found himself on his hands and knees, _inside_ the stranger's shields. Two pain signatures drew him out of himself – the stranger, slumped over with a deeply slashed wrist, panic rousing him to a desperate effort to reach Kahlen, and the girl herself, white faced and on the ground, blood drenching the dagger pressed to the hilt into her left side. His Healing gift leaped, fluctuated, faltered. Two, both dying, and he couldn't move!

Firesong stared through the wildly fluctuating shields in disbelief, his mind trying to register what he'd just seen. What she'd just _done_. And the healer, Kevren was in shock, and barely conscious. The Taleydras adept sent a wordless cry for help to Darkwind, then leaned forward, breathing slowly and carefully, and mentally _felt_ the shields, seeking for some flaw, some weakness that would let him bring them down without harm to the people trapped inside. More healers were coming, but they'd be too late – and just as helpless as he was if he didn't find some way to dissolve those shields. The sudden arrival of Kahlen's Companion almost knocked him to the ground.

__

:Firesong – Adept – link through me!: The Companion ordered grimly.

Firesong looked from the Companion to the girl, silver eyes narrowed, then carefully traced the bond between them – the bond that somehow penetrated the shields. Then he saw a _second_ bond, faint, tenuous, pulsing with a dual heartbeat, running from his _own_ power and through the shields, and twining with the girl's aura. Impossible! Yet he'd _felt_ something, back in the Palace, when he'd first entered the reception room and locked eyes with her. The adept hesitated only a moment, then closed his eyes and _reached_. The shields fought him, fluctuating, unstable and deadly. He traced the shape of them, ignoring the pain, ignoring the surge of energy that ran from the Companion, through the shields, to the young woman trapped inside. And found he could reach her, despite the shields, through that tenuous bond. 

The healer moved, one hand clutching his head, the other reaching out blindly to seize the stranger's slashed wrist. Kevren held on despite the man's feeble protests, and Firesong could sense, if not see, the Healing energies flowing between them. He returned his attention to the young herald-trainee. Her hands still clutched the dagger, but her eyes were closed, her face white_. :Kahlen, the blade. Don't touch it – don't pull against it.:_

__

:Don't…break the shields.: That, faintly. _:I can hold them… I can burn it out…from inside.:_ A violent grief for the one she'd called Drisae – and for the healer, Kevren. And, oddly, a growing fear for him, and for the heralds and healers he could sense converging on them. Distantly, he sensed impending rain and boiling storm clouds, hidden save where lightning tore through the growing dark and a few shreds of moonlight lingered. 

__

:You will not.: Firesong ordered, reaching again through the faint, tenuous bond, and clamping down on her power. He felt it then, the tiny invaders that fought to take hold in her blood, seeking, seeking_. :I see them, the little killers. I will confine them, Kahlen. But you _will_ lower your shields, and you _will_ trust me. Think!:_ He sent furiously_. :Those who sent this man here can send _again_. We must be able to fight this thing, and to fight it we need them – and you – alive, child. You are a Herald of Valdemar – would you leave it defenseless?:_

Amethyst eyes turned toward him, fogged with pain and uncertainty._ :Can't… I'nadazi… made this… thought they'd… failed…all my gateward…dead.: _A world of regret and doubt shown in those eyes – and he realized she would do this thing – she would not risk setting this sickness free in Valdemar, yet her energies were weakening with each heartbeat.

__

:Chosen – you must do as Master Firesong says.: The Companion moved forward, his head almost touching the faltering shields_. :You have the means to destroy this sickness – but not if you are dead!:_

Kevren released the stranger's arm, and dropped back to his hands and knees, fighting to stay conscious. A grey fog obscured his vision, pulsing in time to his own heartbeat. The stranger – Drisae, she'd called him, was unconscious now, but at least he was still breathing. Doggedly, he crawled over to Kahlen, placed shaking hands on either side of the dagger, then carefully grasped it and pulled the blade out. The girl gave a faint cry and passed out. The shields around them weakened, wavered, but did _not_ yield. 

Not her shields, Firesong realized in growing dismay, but the stranger's – and locked in place. The healer was cursing softly now, pressing both hands against the blood-flow from Kahlen's wound. Recklessly, Firesong began feeding more energy into the girl, willing the healer to take it, to focus it through his Gift. Kevren glanced at him, startled, then nodded grimly and began to cautiously draw on the fresh power pooling within the girl, transmuting it to healing energy. Buying time. Time Firesong would have to use, and quickly. What she'd done – _ghosting_ through the stranger's shields, taking Kevren with her – could he do the same?

"Ashke?" Distantly, he felt Silverfox drop down beside him.

A world of regret shuddered through the adept, that he had no time explain to his beloved, to say what was in his heart. There simply _was_ no time. He turned and shoved Silverfox away, hard, outside the range of the shields he had to set. A flash of thought to Darkwind, who looked startled, then pulled the kestra'chern even farther back, waving the others back as well. The girl's Companion stared at the adept a moment, then nodded, but refused to move back. _Star-eyed help me._ He'd never tried this before – never considered it possible. His legs felt oddly weak. She was pulling power unconsciously, he realized suddenly, unaware, and _ungrounded_, and now he was running out of time _and_ energy. 

Quickly, Firesong threw his own shields around himself and the Companion, and encompassing the weaker shields that separated him from the others. And opened that weak, tenuous bond to the girl wider, wider – and flung himself _forward_, using it as a lifeline to pass _through_ the stranger's inner shields – shields that faltered, then pulsed, then lashed at him with a firestorm of energies that tore at his controls and his reason and left him screaming in pain. He did not pass out, quite. It might have been a blessing if he had.

__

:… I don't… need… another… patient…: Kevren knelt over him, teeth gritted, feverish with pain and a reaction headache that sent tears streaming into the healer's eyes. The pain in his own head was slowly fading. The pain in his flesh was not, but it would not kill him. _At least not yet._ Firesong caught the healer's hands and pushed them away, then wordlessly began feeding the man power directly. The pain in the healer's eyes faded a bit, and he gasped in relief, then turned back to the girl, intent on closing the wound that still bled sluggishly. Firesong struggled to his knees, reached out to the stranger, and carefully sought and found the keys to the shields – and brought them down, channeling their power back into to their originator. The Companion came forward then, dropping gracefully down beside him. 

__

:Firesong. Take what you need, for yourself and my Chosen…: The wordless plea in the impossible blue eyes was irresistible. Carefully, the adept placed a hand on the Companion's shoulder, another on the girl, and began a slow power transfer. He looked curiously at the new burns that seared his hands and arms, and felt oddly light-headed. He was going into shock, and could think of nothing to do to stop it, and yet there was something…something… he still needed to do.

The thought came to him just before he passed out. _:Darkwind… hold the shields. The sickness in here – it's tainted with blood-magic. We have to…:_ He never felt the other adept take hold of the shields, or heard Elspeth's cry of dismay as she came running forward, eyes sweeping from him to the others trapped inside his shields Never saw his own body fluctuating, _shifting_, fading into a blur of white, coruscating light, struggling to keep hold of his human form, to anchor him to the physical world. And failing.

Kahlen's first thought was that someone had shoved a white-hot firebrand into her side. An attempt to sit up left her gasping with pain, her eyes blurred with tears. "Don't." Kevren rasped hoarsely. The healer knelt beside her, his shaking hands pressed lightly over the wound under her ribs, his face haggard and gray with fatigue. Then he glanced to one side, and gasped. "Gods help us…" Kahlen followed his gaze, and froze. The Tayledras adept was badly burned. Worse, he was _fading_, glowing, fluctuating in a white fire that glowed brighter with every passing second. Her Companion lay beside him, his eyes dimmed, head drooping. 

__

:Chosen…I can't hold him much longer. You must stop this...: She saw it then, the energy that flowed unchecked between them, that the adept had fed first to Kevren, and then to her. Energy that Rand had provided until, exhausted, he could no longer sustain the link. Horrified, she severed the link and blocked the flow. Rand whickered softly, then watched her hopefully, his head held a trifle higher. Slowly, Kahlen pushed herself to a sitting position, one hand pressed against the half-healed, sluggishly bleeding wound. 

Beside her Kevren dropped his head into his hands, moaning softly. She grasped the healer's shoulder, then eased him down onto the ground. He could do no more. He'd burn out if he tried. She glanced anxiously at Drisae, who was white with blood loss and the ravages of the plague – but still breathing. Finally, she turned back toward the adept.

"Kahlen, can you hear me?" Darkwind's voice echoed hollowly through the shields. He knelt outside the mage barrier, holding them carefully, but his eyes stayed on the adept in growing agitation. "Firesong – what is happening to him?" 

"I – I'm not sure, _M'hada_." She crawled closer, then placed a trembling hand on the adept. It was as she'd feared. Energy depletion, and something worse. He'd _phased_ through Dris' shields on intuition – or sheer idiocy –and was trapped in the phasing, unable to stabilize. Most _I'nadazi_ would not have dared. Most _I'nadazi_ would have died in the attempt. And none would have risked such a death, no matter the cause. For a moment Kahlen, covered her face with her hands, hating all her choices. If she chose wrongly… 

Kahlen looked despairingly at the people gathered outside Darkwind's shields. She needed power – and there was only one way to get it, and no time to explain. Grimly, Kahlen placed her hands into the pulsing light that had swallowed the Taleydras adept.

Darkwind stiffened, then stood up swiftly, his heart hammering in disbelief. Kahlen was shifting, glowing, transforming. Melding with the pulsing, uneven light that still held a dim image of his friend and mentor. Drawing power from _elsewhere_, feeding it into the adept, slowly at first, then at an ever increasing rate, its intensity growing, swelling, until he could no longer bear to watch.

"Look away!" Elspeth screamed, grabbing the Hawkbrother's shoulder and turning him away from the blinding light. Silverfox cried out and ran forward, and they both caught him and pulled him down, Elspeth's hand clamped desperately over his eyes. The light changed suddenly, becoming a fiery red, then fading to a painfully bright blue – and abruptly vanished. 


	10. Heartstone

Disclaimer - Valdemar, Heralds and Companions are the works of Mercedes Lackey, and remain her sole and personal property. Firechild Legacy is a derivative fanfiction work not intended for publication or profit. Kahlen belongs to me!

Kudos to my reviewers! I REALLY get inspired by R&R feedback hint, hint
    
jcbemis() – The vrondi was called by the truthspell Alberich invoked in Ch. 6. The truth spell uses an elemental vrondi (See VC concordance)
    
Rosakala – Thanks! Cliffhangers are an excellent tool used to lure the reader into turning the page to the **next** chapter.
    
    Wolfwind – Thanks for the kudos! I've been writing intermittently for a long time, though. Also took some classes and read MANY books/articles on writing by noted experts in the field – including Ms. Lackey. Re. your Q - Firesong is quite capable of becoming a sorcerer adept – which is a term An'desha introduced in "Mage Storms" to describe someone like Ma'ar or Urtho. The question to ask is, would he wind up another Ma'ar, or follow in Urtho's footsteps? I'll confess to taking a few liberties. I'm assuming Firesong wasn't able to heal *himself* at the end of "Storm Breaking" because his personal energies were exhausted, and the level of pain he was in made it impossible to focus clearly.

Chapter 10 - The Heartstone

Darkwind rose slowly, seeking frantically for some sign of Firesong and the young trainee. Rain lashed against the shields he had taken from Firesong, flashing to steam as it struck the shimmering barrier. With the rain came a rising wind, wild and whipping, through the nearby trees.

"He's not dead." Silverfox whispered softly. "Goddess help us, he can't be dead." He scrambled to his feet, staring in numbed disbelief at people still trapped inside the shields. Only the healer, Kevren, the stranger, and Kahlen's Companion remained within the shimmering barrier. Silverfox spun about, Elspeth's hand still gripping his arm, searching frantically for his lifemate. Darkwind closed his eyes and shifted to mage-sight, looking with all his skill for some trace of Firesong. After a moment his eyes snapped open, tense and worried.

"_Ke'chara_, please, you must take the shields." He raised one hand to lightly touch Elspeth's cheek, giving her Firesong's last warning in a desperate burst of thought. Then he turned and began running, back towards the Palace. Elspeth watched him uncertainly, but stayed with the kestra'chern, her mind reaching out to firmly grasp the faltering shields.

Firesong struggled to move through the thick, heavy fog that had stolen the light, the air, and his sight, sound and breath. He was fading, freezing, thinning into a thin mist of ice and dark and death. Something clung to him, hot and fiery, that drew him like a moth to flame. He _needed_ that heat – yet recoiled in horror as he realized he was leaching the life out of someone – or something. Drowning in the dark. _Blessed Goddess, help me_. A mindless scream lashed at him, struggling to turn them both, to pull them toward…. he sensed it then, a subtle, roaring power, deep rooted in the earth, potent and oddly familiar – and oddly tuned to him. He struggled toward it, still praying, desperate for another source of energy. He would _not_ take it from another living being. _Star-eyed, lend us wings_… He was able to help that driving force a bit now, though feebly, as the black, cloying fog gave way before the growing light. The presence he'd sensed seemed to pull them both faster, struggling desperately toward it. Fire seared him then, lashing the new burns, dragging him down into pain and a searing void – then the blessed relief of the dark. 

Kahlen was sobbing by the time she'd flung the gate back into the physical plane, and plunged them both into the strange power pool. Embedded in stone, enclosed within stone walls, yet near enough that it had _called_ to the Tayledras adept – and through him, to her. Pulling him toward the light was like wading through living fire. She paused on the edge of it, then looked with dread and wonder at the shimmering energy, and at the man who, though barely alive, had almost dragged her _into_ it. He was unconscious now, blessedly unaware of the burns that lacerated face, arms, and hands, trapped and shifting between flesh and fire. The power roared through them both, unfettered, willing to be tamed to his will – and he could not use it. _I can't do this_, she thought despairingly. 

Her own vision was wavering now, seared by the power beating against the adept and fading with the sluggish blood that flowed from her half healed wound. _:Rand…:_ Her Companion was a faint, distant presence that battered futilely against the shields that trapped him, struggling to reach her, and failing. She was losing them both. She had brought the adept this far, and he was fading as she watched. _I can't do this._ Weeping softly, Kahlen put her hands into the shifting light and focused her mind down, down into the life pattern that yet remained. She caught it, made it part of her, and _pulled_ the power into him, willing the patterns that defined him to renew, to reform, to take the light and make it flesh. Patterns. She could see them now, pulled them into the language that shaped her power, mastered them. The power reacted, pulled back, poised to strike out and destroy her – and paused. 

__

*!!? Herald? Herald.* It surged into her then, seeking to find and match her will. It flooded over her, overpowered what consciousness remained, and pulled her irresistibly into the magefires at its heart.

Darkwind pounded through the lower level corridors that led to the heartstone chamber beneath the Old Palace. He could feel the surge of roused, unfettered power, and a faint echo of Firesong's presence, but no conscious thought. Heart racing, he thrust open the hidden door and stepped inside. The Valdemar heartstone flared in recognition, its power surging toward him, then drew back into an iridescent fountain of light centered on the stone table that formed its core.

Darkwind paused only an instant, eyes scanning the room, then hurried to the small figure slumped on the far side of the stone table. Kahlen was breathing shallowly, but breathing. She seemed translucent, glowing with an inner light, but beneath the fading glow her skin was pasty and white. Her grey tunic was ripped and heavily blood stained. The adept cursed softly, then yanked off his own, long-sleeved tunic and folded it into a rough pad. He gently peeled back the grey silk, pressed the bulk of the fabric against the sluggishly bleeding wound, and used the sleeves to bind the pad tightly against it. Head bowed, he reached out to Elspeth . _:Ke'chara, send healers to the Heartstone chamber. I think –:_

A low groaning came from the far side of the stone table. Darkwind rose quickly and crossed the small chamber. Hope turned to uncertainty even as he knelt swiftly next to the limp form that curled against the wall, face down in the shadows. His hands were shaking as he reached for the man. Tattered, charred red silks half covered him, and a thin, crushed mask of half-melted gold lay discarded on the stone floor. Firesong flinched away from him, even half conscious, and curled into a fetal position. _Sheth'ka_, he whispered, hesitating to even touch him for fear of causing pain. Burns… Goddess, not again. 

"Firesong?" he called softly, then steeled himself to touch the adept. "Don't move, _shayana_, I've called for healers…" 

A harsh sob echoed softly through the small chamber, and a crushing despair spasmed through him as his fingers brushed Firesong's shoulder. _She – he? - was standing inside a massive stone chamber, so large that faint sobs echoed hollowly within it. Several burns had scored his hands and chest, and his clothing was charred in several places. He knelt, panting, in the center of a mage barrier that pulsed with a deep, yellow glow. On the far side, Chansin knelt, his smooth, round face twisted into a mask of grief and horror that bordered on madness. Perhaps nine or ten, his hands trembled as he raised them yet again to strike at his opponent, then let them drop listlessly at his side. "No…no…" the boy whispered. The eyes, usually brimming with mischief and good humor, had gone vague and empty. "Please, Kahlen. End it."_

He'd struggled to his feet, somehow. The thirst was the worst. No water. No food, but he doubted he'd eat, ever again. And he would not_ kill this child, who'd come to him, bewildered and disbelieving, when they'd first been ordered to prepare for this testing. "Chas…we have to fight. But together..not against each other. We have to – to break the mage barrier…" The boy only shook his head hopelessly, trembling uncontrollably. None of the students had ever dared such a thing – to fight the I'nadazi masters. Firesong – Kahlen? - glanced helplessly at nearest the mage circle beyond their own, where Hakan sat, tears streaming down his frozen face, staring at what was left of Kennu in mute disbelief. His brothers, of the only family they'd ever known. And they were _killing_ each other – for that was the test – that two be sealed into the mage barrier, to challenge each other until only one survived. Only then, said the masters, would the barrier be released. Three days, they'd been held in this place, denied food, water, or any explanation. So had their masters decreed. Hakan abruptly raised his hands to his own temples and released a blast of mage energy. _

Firesong's scream eclipsed Hakan's own as lightning shot from the other boy's hands, blasting head and chest to charred cinder – and Chansin struck at Firesong, his face desperate, his eyes shadowed with a feral rage that held nothing of sanity. His own shields flared instinctively, shaped themselves to capture the wild energies pouring from the younger boy to prevent their rebounding against the barrier – but Chansin threw himself forward, into the inferno, and fell in a pitiful heap of charred flesh and bone.

Firesong stared in disbelief at the work of his hands – he'd meant to save_ the child, not destroy him. His strength failed him, and he sank, trembling, to the ground. Hakan…Hakan had known. They would be rematched, after a short rest, to be tested – and retested – until the masters were satisfied that only the strongest remained. His heart pounded unevenly, throat closing in denial. I won't – I can't. He felt, rather than saw, the mage barrier come down. Master Soren approached, and he could sense the I'nadazi's pleasure and surprise. _Rage and grief welled up in him, that these adepts – these masters – could set them to destroy each other. Better to die fighting such evil, than to kill at their orders. Firesong raised his hands, turning to face Soren – 

__

:Firesong?: Not Soren, that voice. And not his memories. Gasping, the Tayledras adept opened his eyes. Darkwind's worried face slowly came into focus, hesitant and confused.

__

:Darkwind. Gods above, I thought you were Soren _– I almost –:_ Gods, he hurt all over. His face and body felt unfamiliar and oddly disjointed. He could not stop shaking, and his soul was bleeding. For a moment he simply clung to Darkwind, seeing Chansin's face. "The trainee, Kahlen?"

"She's here, but very weak. I stopped the bleeding, I think. The healers are -" Darkwind could hear them pounding down the corridor. "But Firesong -" He looked down at his friend, helpless to explain, at raven black hair, without a streak of silver, and a face out of his first memories of the k'Treva adept, smooth, unscarred and flawless. And eyes that were no longer the familiar silver, but deepest amethyst. Kahlen's eyes.

_

:Dizzy.:
_ That thought came sluggishly, with a burst of nausea_. :Can't… seem to find my balance…:_ The doors burst open and chaos ensued as four healers entered. Deven dropped down beside Darkwind and reached for the Tayledras. "Please, don't try to move, Envoy -" The master healer paused in astonishment, then looked at Darkwind, who only shook his head. Mutely, Deven turned back to his patient. "I want to make you sleep, Firesong, if you'll permit." His voice was mild and soothing, but his hands shook slightly. "We're going to move you to your quarters, and ensure you're safe and your – injuries treated."

Firesong nodded hesitantly. "Don't let me dream…" he murmured. "I almost - I could have killed…" He drifted off as Deven pressed his fingers lightly against the adept's forehead, willing him into a deep sleep.

Darkwind shivered. "He was caught up in a memory – or a nightmare – when I found them, Master Deven. "Kahlen's, I think, and very –" He hesitated, then rubbed his face. "I caught a fragment. It was bad. I think – I think you'd best send for a mind healer. And I – I had best talk to Silverfox." The younger healers had brought two carriers, and moved Kahlen as carefully as possible onto one of them. 

Darkwind followed them out of the chamber, then suddenly gripped Deven's arm. "Look." He said hoarsely. Deven followed his gaze, then looked more carefully. Something ran between his two patients, tangled and glowing for those with healing or mage gift. Something that pulsed with dual heartbeats, and stretched and attenuated as the two were moved farther apart, Firesong toward the ambassadorial suites, the girl toward Healer's Collegium. Firesong moaned softly, and Kahlen roused, whimpering in real pain, then suddenly went into convulsions. 

"Stop." Deven was sweating now, sensitive to the power surging fitfully between the two. "Healer's Collegium." He said finally. "Both of them." 

Darkwind closed his eyes. _:Elspeth. We found them, both alive. Master Deven is moving them to Healer's Collegium. Firesong has…changed. You'd best bring Silverfox. The others?:_

:Still shielded, ashke.: Her mindvoice was strained_. :But the stranger is failing, and Kevren with him.: _

Kevren was no longer aware of the shield, or the worried, strained faces beyond it, or of the howling wind that made speech through the shield impossible. All his mind and gift were focused solely on the limp, unconscious form before him, the face shadowed with exhaustion and bruised from the disease that was swiftly taking him, despite all the healer could do. Nothing he had tried had done more than slow it down, and now he could feel it slowly eating into his own defenses. Hours, a day or two at best, and it would have them both. Dimly, he recalled Kahlen's words - fire could kill it, she'd said. Panic rose in the healer as he realized he had no means of raising fire, of burning it from within before someone decided to open the shield. Deven might do it, too, he realized despairingly, rather than let a patient or one of his healers die. He glanced mutely at the Companion, wondering if he could make him understand. Slowly, the creature nodded its head. The healer's hands shook as he reached for the stranger's knife. 
__


	11. Soul Bound

Disclaimer - Valdemar, Heralds and Companions are the works of Mercedes Lackey, and remain her sole and personal property. Firechild Legacy is a derivative fanfiction work not intended for publication or profit. 

Kudos to my reviewers! I REALLY get inspired by R&R feedback.

Chapter 11 - Soul Bound

Kevren was no longer aware of the shield, or the worried, strained faces beyond it, or the howling wind that made speech through the shield impossible. All his mind and gift were focused solely on the limp, unconscious form before him, the face shadowed with exhaustion and bruised from the disease that was swiftly taking him, despite all the healer could do. Nothing he had tried had done more than slow it down, and now he could feel it slowly eating into his own defenses. Hours, a day or two at best, and it would kill them both. Dimly, he recalled Kahlen's words - fire could kill it, she'd said. Too late, he understood - why she'd killed her first companion, then destroyed his body that day they'd both fallen out of the sky and into Valdemar. Panic rose in the healer as he realized he had no means of raising fire, of burning everything within this shield before someone decided to open it. The Senior Healer, Devan, might well do it, too, he realized despairingly, rather than let a patient or one of his prized healers die. 
He glanced mutely at the Companion, wondering if he could make him understand, if anyone would ever understand, if he did the unspeakable. Slowly, the creature nodded its head. Perhaps Elspeth and the others could find a way to save the Companion, once he and the stranger were dead, without releasing this disease into Haven. The healer's hands shook as he reached for the stranger's knife. 
__

:Healer Kevren - don't! Please, listen to me: Kevren, hesitated, then looked uncertainly at Elspeth, but she had not sent that thought. No, it was the young trainee, Josseran, his Companion standing as close as she could to shield the boy from the pounding rain_. :You have time yet - not much, but some. The blood infusion - remember the blood infusion Kahlen used on me, the first day she came here? Sir, you have to let us try. Please!:_

Kevren looked back at his patient in growing despair. Too late, for this one. He could feel the man's heart faltering, death creeping into his bones despite all he could do_. :Not the stranger, although we could try.:_ The boy mindsent, his fierce emotions driving the thought into Kevren's mind. _:For_ _yourself. We can't spare you. Kahlen's blood would be best, but you could use mine. . .:_ Josseran's eyes went desperately to the healer's belt, but saw that Kevren had no field kit. He turned pleadingly to Elspeth, who nodded swiftly, then took off at a dead run for the Healer's Collegium.

No fear in him, Kevren thought, with distant pride in the boy. His own energies were nearly exhausted, but Josseran was right. He had to study this thing - or at least live long enough that Devan and the others had a chance to study it, before it killed him. His eyes locked on Elspeth's. He pointed to her, then touched his own head and pointed to the dying man and his own heart. She nodded in grim understanding. Kevren was not gifted with mind-speech, but Elspeth could read his thoughts, take as much knowledge as she could from his observations, and pass that on to Devan. For as long as he lasted.

Devan had barely settled his two patients into the large isolation room normally used for burn patients when Josseran burst in and made straight for Kahlen. Two healers tried to grab the boy, but he ducked past them, and dove under the Senior Healer's outstretched arm to reach the girl's bedside. Kahlen was conscious, but her eyes were glazed, her face strained and pale. 

"Kahlen, the blood infusion you used on me - can we try it for Kevren - and for the other one?"

She shook her head, tears filling the amethyst eyes. "Drisae. . . he's gone." Her voice was ragged, broken. "I can't. . . feel him." She rallied a bit then, and pushed herself up against the headboard, one hand clutching her side. "But Kevren. . . he's still -?"

"What about Kevren?" Devan said sharply, leaning closer, one arm on Joss' shoulder. 

"He's caught it, Master Devan." Joss said tersely. "He went through the shield with Kahlen - He was trying to save the stranger, but -"

"Caught what - and what stranger?" The Senior Healer didn't know, the boy realized abruptly. Joss had left his duties at the reception to follow Kahlen out of the palace, had felt the gut-wrenching surge of power that heralded an incoming gate, had stood by helplessly when Kahlen and the young healer had _somehow_ breached the stranger's mage-barrier, trying to save the man inside. But Devan - as senior healer, he'd remained inside the palace at the reception, the boy realized. Well, there was a way to deal with that, too. Josseran reached up, touched the Healer's forehead, and simply dumped the information into his mind. Devan reeled in shock, then steadied himself, absorbing the harsh images. _Kevren, kneeling inside a mage shield, his hands streaked with blood as he fought to save the dark-haired man lying bleeding and unconscious before him. Firesong and Kahlen, glowing with wild, pulsing energies, then abruptly vanishing is a surge of eye-searing light. _

"You'll have to test his blood, mix it with mine." The girl muttered, looking distractedly around the large treatment room. "If it doesn't clot. . . if you have the means. . . a hollow needle? A small bladder?" She clutched Devan's arm. "You have to try!" That, fiercely. 

The healer only nodded wordlessly, then moved swiftly to the supply cabinets and gathered the materials needed. Josseran held Kahlen's hand while the healer drew a small quantity of her blood, then pushed her gently down into the bed. "I remember." The boy said firmly. "I'll go with him." Her eyes followed the healer as Devan hurried from the room, Josseran in his wake. The other healers moved quietly around the room, bringing warm water and soap, tending her and the Tayledras adept. She glanced uncertainly at the man, who stirred restlessly, but did not waken. 

She wondered vaguely why the envoy had worn a mask. Some strange, Tayledras custom? His face was smooth and handsome, disturbingly so. His hair. . . hadn't it been white? Now it was a deep, shimmering black. The healers were carefully removing the shredded, scorched remains of his clothing, and the skin beneath was flawless. She closed her eyes, tears of relief leaking silently down her face. She'd saved his body - rebuilt it rather - but what had that trauma done to his mind? She reached out, meaning only to touch the borders of his mind, - hoping desperately that it was still _there_, and intact. Instead, exhaustion and blood loss pulled her down into the dark.

__

She was kneeling, shields thrown desperately around the cracked and ravaged heartstone of k'Sheyna Vale. Lightning flashed from it, beating incessantly against her shields, driven by Falconsbane's thwarted fury. Tears ran down Firesong's - no, her_ face. Starblade would die, and likely the Healer Kethra - but if the heartstone escaped her shield barriers the energy would backlash throughout the Vale, killing everyone. She felt, rather than saw, the intervention of the bird-spirits, diving out of the sky to hover and shield Starblade and Kethra against the mage fires that pounded at them - then reached hungrily for the heartstone. She would not yield it - simply held firm, letting it blaze against her shields. _

The striking power withdrew as suddenly as it had come. She pushed herself to her feet, trembling with fatigue, then stared up at the stricken ekele. Burnt and - frosted? Darkwind had glared at her when she first entered the ekele, his arms protectively around his father, but at least he'd listened as she - no, Firesong - explained why_ she'd chosen to shield the stone instead of the adept. But the reluctant acceptance in Darkwind's eyes did little to assuage the guilt in her own heart. Guilt that only deepened when she'd found Tre'valen's body, met the pitying eyes of the Kalen'e'dral who'd come to take his body home. The Shin'a'in shaman had acted decisively in the only way he could, shielding both Starblade and Kethra - and deflecting much of the energy aimed toward the damaged heartstone. Her fault - she should have anticipated Falconsbane's attack, she should have known. . ._

Kahlen woke to the sound of a man's voice speaking softly in a strange dialect - no, she _knew_ that language, though she'd never heard it before. _Tayledras_. And she knew that voice - Silverfox, speaking softly, repeatedly, the same words. The kestra'chern's hands, set lightly on either side of Firesong's face, were shaking with fatigue. Darkwind stood behind him, his hands on the man's shoulders, his eyes bruised with exhaustion as he fed power into the meld. One of the young healers that had tended them was sitting against the wall, sobbing hopelessly, while the other huddled protectively next to him, trying to shield out the leakage.

__

:I am here, ashke. Don't leave. Don't leave us. These are not_ your thoughts, _not_ your deeds. You did _not_ kill those children. You did _not_ attack Darkwind. Don't leave. We need you. I love you. Don't leave. . .:_

Kahlen listened in shocked dismay, then curled into a tight ball of misery. He knew, and the memories horrified him - for all the bright courage she'd sensed in the man, he'd recoiled in horror from what she'd done. or was it something else? Hesitantly, she reached out again. He was trapped, she realized suddenly. Trapped in her own memories, her nightmares, reliving them as if they were real - unable to tell memory from the present. "No." She whispered softly. Darkwind heard her, glanced briefly at her, then turned back to the others. 

"Kahlen." She jumped as a hand touched her shoulder. Devan looked down at her, his eyes bloodshot with fatigue. He nodded toward the adept. "Can you help? It's been hours. . . we're going to lose him. Lose both of them. We've tried drugs, mind-healing - nothing seems to work."

"Healer Kevren?" She murmured. "Is he. . ."

The healer managed a faint smile. "He seems to be holding his own. Josseran's with him, and my second. We have them isolated for now. I'm hoping young Joss' immunity is still holding. Elspeth burned out the area within the mage shield, once we got everyone out. We've infused everyone who's been exposed, and are isolating them both for three days. All gods willing, he'll recover. But Firesong -" He bent down and grasped her shoulders. "I'm sorry to ask this of you, child, but if there's anything - anything you can suggest to bring him out of this nightmare?"

She closed her eyes for a long moment, then nodded wearily. "Help me over to them." Devan looked at her uncertainly, then tucked the blanket around her legs and lifted her bodily out of the bed. _Good thing,_ she thought dizzily, _else I'd fall down._ One of the healers scrambled up and brought a chair to place next to the adept's bed. Silverfox never glanced up from his charge, but Darkwind shook his head. "You can't, Devan - it's too risky. Firesong would never forgive us if she -"

"Please, _M'hada_." She asked, flinching away from the worry in his eyes. "This is my doing. I have enough deaths to my account. Let me try." Darkwind hesitated. She did not wait, for fear her resolution would break - only raised her hand and placed it gently on the adept's chest. Her eyes closed, her head dropped onto the blankets. Silverfox raised his head, stared at her in astonishment, then placed a shaking hand over her own and fed what energy he could into the girl's mindmeld. 

__

:Stop. Listen to me.: Firesong/Kahlen turned exhausted eyes, almost empty of hope, toward her. _:These are not your memories. They are mine, and you had no part in them. You must give them over. Just so, Adept.:_ Slowly, she began to unravel the tangle of memories that bound them. It was hard work, and more than once she faltered. _:I'm sorry. I never meant to. . . I couldn't save them_.: They were kneeling inside her worst memory of her time with the I'nadazi. Mordan's scorched, lifeless body lay between them. Firesong shivered convulsively, then reached down and closed the boy's sightless eyes. Odd, that in this dream state his hands and face were still badly scarred.

__

:We killed Chansin.: He said sorrowfully, his voice choked with grief.

__

:Yes.: She acknowledged. _:I didn't mean to, but he - he couldn't bear to live if it meant - he chose the only way out that was open to him.:_

__

:We could have chosen to die instead.: He accused, glaring at her.

__

:To what purpose?: She countered wearily. _:So that Chansin could go on, only to force Joran or Mordan to destroy him? Mordan, who called him 'little brother' and told us stories at bedtime?: _She fisted her hands, glaring defiantly at him in her turn. _:So I lived, in hopes of ending the trials. Twice we broke the barriers, Jordan and I - and Mordan, in his turn. And I took what justice I could for them. The I'nadazi stopped the trials, deeming them too costly, after I killed the Adept D'henna. . .: _Her eyes blurred with unshed tears. _:But perhaps you are right, Master Firesong. Perhaps I should have died with them. Perhaps killing is all we were truly good for. It was what the I'nadazi bred us for, after all. . .:_ Was it his grief, or her own that drove the despair so deep she was drowning in it? So much easier, to simply let go. 

__

:I'm sorry.: Firesong spoke softly, gripping her hands tightly in his own. Mordan had vanished with the remnants of that last, terrible memory, and the adept's eyes were calmer now, less wild. _:I didn't - I have never had to kill - not like that - and never a child! I was wrong to judge you, but - who _were_ these people, these I'nadazi?: _He drew a cautious breath, still shaky with unshed tears. _:How could they have dared to -:_

__

:It doesn't matter now.: She said faintly. _:I am sorry for putting that burden on you. You were caught within the Fires, and I had never pulled someone back into the living world before. You may yet suffer through more of my - memories - and I yours.: _She grimaced, then leaned forward and touched his face with her hands. _:But I think - I think you will not lose yourself again.:_ Her fingers caught in his silvered hair, then slipped down to rest over his heart, probing cautiously. Her eyes flew open in shock - _I'nada meloran._ She whispered. Oh, gods, what had she done? Not his patterns - or not entirely. She'd rebuilt flesh and bone - stabilized it - but more than memories had leaked into the melding. The new pattern - whole and intricate, but changed, subtly and irrevocably. 

Her eyes flew to his face, his body. Scarred, pitted, with astonishing silver eyes, hands and arms marked with the deep, mottled scars of old burns. Superimposed she saw his face as she'd restored it - smooth, flawless, jet black hair that fell to his waist, eyes of deepest amethyst, smooth skin gleaming like pale gold. The face blurred. what else did I do to him? I'nadazi eyes - had she tainted him with her own blood curse as well? How deep were the changes? And would he be able to control them? Slowly, she withdrew from his mind, and lifted her head to stare into weary amethyst eyes, sane now. The man sitting beside him, his arms protectively on the adept's shoulders, stared at her with profound and heartfelt gratitude. Like the adept, his hair was jet black, but the eyes were a deep cerulean blue, his skin a deeper bronze. Lifemates, she realized dully. Would that gratitude survive her next words?

"Master Firesong." She choked out. "Have you ever shape changed?"


	12. Fire Bound

Disclaimer - Valdemar, Heralds and Companions are the works of Mercedes Lackey, and remain her sole and personal property. Firechild Legacy is a derivative fanfiction work not intended for publication or profit. Kahlen belongs to me!

Kudos to my reviewers! I REALLY get inspired by reviews

Shahanna – I'd never thought of that twist on the blood disease – it's a real possibility I'll need to explore.

PrettyKittyOreo, konekochan, Terryie – thanks for the encouragement!

Cat – As always, your advice and suggestions are priceless! Will try to keep pace balance, and production up!

Chapter 12 – Fire Bound

The adept looked at her uncertainly. "Only once, during my adept training. Not since. I would have needed a compelling reason." His hands, she noted, were trembling with reaction. He shifted uncomfortably, but did not resist as his mate urged him back down onto the bed, sliding an extra pillow under the adept's head. "Shape changing is … very dangerous, even for a healing adept. It's very easy to…lose oneself." His eyes closed in exhaustion. His companion, Silverfox, ran hands that trembled slightly just above his lifemate's forehead, then looked at her in growing concern. "What has happened to him?" His voice was low and even, belying the fear and uncertainty in his eyes.

"I'm not sure." Kahlen whispered, then looked from Silverfox back to the healer. "He was… shifting into light – into an elemental form – with no pattern and no knowledge of how to renew himself. I gathered what pattern I could, to draw him back into _this_ plane." Her own hands were shaking now. "That - place he took us seemed to have some memory of him… it gave me echoes of his pattern. I used it. I tried to restore his physical form, but – the pattern was incomplete. I did what I could. Whether he can hold to this shape…" Her voice trembled, edged with hysteria. "Don't let him dream – no nightmares, at least. Don't leave him unguarded, not for an instant. He's untrained – his mind is strong and disciplined, but in this he is untrained." Kahlen rubbed shaking hands across her own eyes. They came away wet with tears. "I can't think what to do."

"We will tend him, child." Devan watched her carefully, then stepped forward and lifted her out of the chair. "Now you are going to lay down and rest and drink what I give you." Carefully, he placed her back into bed. He turned healing sight on the girl, then on Firesong. With great relief, he saw that the strange energy bond between them had dissipated to a faint whisper. Firesong, at least, looked solid and stable enough to _his_ eyes. "I will have a healer in here with you at all times, and two more within call. But for now you need to rest." His sharp eyes swept the room. "All of you."

"She needs to eat." Darkwind spoke quietly, pushing himself away from the wall. "As will Firesong, when he wakes." The adept placed a compassionate hand on Silverfox's shoulder. "Come, my friend. There's an unused bed where you can stay within call, should Firesong need you."

"You should get some rest yourself, Darkwind." Devan cautioned, then raked a hand through his hair and sighed. "I intend to do the same."

"I will." The adept smiled wearily, and headed for the door. "But first I must speak to Elspeth – and the Queen."

* * *

"I have to see her." Lord Orwen glared blearily at the young healer barring his way. The frantic anxiety he'd struggled to contain these past two days fueled an anger that brought him near to breaking this young fool's head. He should have been there, at the field when the stranger had arrived – he'd _known_ Kahlen was in danger, but not soon enough. He vaguely recalled standing among confused courtiers, then had suddenly found himself on the palace terrace, looking anxiously for Kahlen only moments after she'd fled the reception hall. He'd spotted her near the Companion's Field a bare moment before she and the Adept Firesong vanished from within that strange shield in a blaze of magefire. He'd nearly been run down by Darkwind as the adept rushed back into the palace. Orwen vaguely recalled dashing forward, heart pounding, only to slam into the oddly glowing barrier that separated the dying stranger, Kevren, and a Companion from Lady Elspeth and the hastily gathering heralds. When he'd wakened his head was blazing with pain, he was laid out in a room in the Healer's Collegium and Lady Elspeth was holding him down while a young healer bent over him, rain dripping down her nose and barely suppressed panic in her eyes. 

They'd refused to let him leave despite his protests, and Elspeth had finally ordered him to stay in bed until the healers pronounced him fit to rise. That had been three days ago. The healers had been looking at him strangely ever since, and his head still wouldn't quite pounding.

"Sir, please. I've sent for Healer Devan, and -" The young man turned with undisguised relief toward the steps coming down the hall. Devan pushed gently past the apprentice and eased the noble back into his room.

"You can't leave yet." The senior healer murmured, eyeing him sympathetically. "Please, Lord Orwen, sit down. We need to talk."

The young noble raked both hands through his hair – somewhat the worse for lack of recent grooming, then spun away from the healer before he did something unforgivably rude. "Devan, I have to -"

"Trainee Kahlen is mending nicely – for all that the blade went deep, it severed nothing vital."

"She was hurt?" And he suddenly saw it again, the flash of image that had caught him unaware in at the Hawkbrother envoy's reception and sent him plunging out into the storm. _Kahlen, frantic to reach the stranger within the mage shield, passing through the shield the way she'd passed through his weapons in the salle. The healer Kevren clinging to her arm and following in her wake. The dagger, the stranger's slashed wrist, Kahlen blocking his attempt to slash himself with a second and mortal blow._ "I should have been there." He murmured vaguely. The room had blurred into a pale, gray mist, and Orwen could barely make out the healer's form as Devan caught him and eased him onto the floor. 

"Damn it, Levon, get it here!" He turned back to the young noble. Not eating, he'd heard from the apprentices. He tapped Orwen lightly on the face, his eyes filled with concern. "Stay with me, boy. When did you last eat?"

"Not hungry." Orwen shoved his hand away and managed a sitting position. "Before the reception," he muttered.

"Not sleeping, either, I'm told." The healer's eyes narrowed. He ran sensitive hands over the young man's face, then checked his pulse. The concern he'd felt earlier deepened. "Orwen, just what do you remember? What happened at the reception? After Firesong and Silverfox ran out?"

Orwen raised a hand and rubbed fretfully at the bridge of his nose. "I felt something was wrong – that Kahlen was in trouble. I ran after her and the envoys, followed them out to the Field. She was inside some sort of mage shield, with the healer, Kevren. I could see it glowing in the rain. Firesong – dove through the shield and it seemed he – caught fire. The Kahlen touched him, and both of them were glowing, dissolving into light. She and Firesong vanished, but I could still sense them – almost as if the fire was some kind of gate. I ran forward until I struck that thrice-damned shield. I don't remember anything after that, until I woke up here."

The healer-apprentice, Levon, poked his head into the room, eyeing Orwen with an odd mixture of sympathy and fear. Devan searched the young noble's face carefully, then glanced at his apprentice. "Bring a light meal, and some watered wine." He ordered quietly. He helped Orwen into a chair.

"Lord Orwen, you never went out to the field." Devan said quietly. "You collapsed inside the palace a few moments after the envoys left the reception hall. Your mother and several of the other ladies panicked. Captain Ashton took charge, and someone finally ran to fetch Lady Elspeth -"

"This makes no sense." Orwen protested. "I _saw_ Elspeth - she was in the rain, holding the shields – I think." He shoved himself out of the chair and began pacing restlessly. "I remember Darkwind shouting at her to take control, before he ran past me back into the palace. Then I hit that damned shield and – I can't remember anything until Elspeth woke me up after I was dragged back here."

"Orwen," Devan said gently. "You never left the reception hall. You collapsed there. You were brought directly here. We –" he hesitated a moment, then eyed the tray young Levon placed carefully on the small table against the window. "We thought you were dead, Orwen. _I_ thought you were dead. No pulse, you weren't breathing, no sense of a living presence. And I still can't explain why you're not." The healer rose, poured a generous glass of wine, and pressed it into Orwen's numb hands. 

"But I saw –" a wave of dizziness blurred Orwen's vision. "Damn." He drained the glass, then almost dropped it as a second wave of green fire caught him and swept the room away. Dimly, he could hear the healer shouting for help. Then even that faded. 

__

He was standing in a spacious, wood paneled room graced with rich leather furnishings and a large, comfortable desk. Selenay looked oddly small behind it. Her eyes were bleak and sympathetic. "I'm sorry Orwen, but unless you're prepared to demand a hearing under truthspell, Lady Ista is within her rights. If you've dishonored her -"

"I haven't." He said heavily. "But if I repudiate her – Selenay, you can't afford this. You need her family's support in Council, and they've wanted this alliance for years. If Lady Ista demands her rights, I won't – I can't - contest it." He silently cursed himself for a fool. He'd known the girl was infatuated with him – half the young women at court were – but he'd never dreamed she'd go this far. To claim to be carrying his child? He'd never touched the girl. And Ashton would never forgive him. The captain loved the girl beyond reason. Ashton had already_ fought two duels on her behalf. When he heard of this, he'd likely be facing the captain over dueling sabers, and _not_ in the salle. And Kahlen – he'd never be able to explain it to her. He turned away, despairing – and green fire flashed into his eyes, disorienting him - _

"Orwen, damn it – don't do this to an old man – what happened?" Devan was leaning over him, his narrow face tense.

"I was in Selenay's office." He murmured distractedly. "At least, I will be…" 

__

He stood frozen in the large throne room where the Queen received foreign delegations, his eyes on the exotically garbed envoys who stood before her. Selenay was seated in formal Whites, the Prince-Consort standing at her right hand, Queen's Own Talia at her left. Before them stood a delegation of three men, one clad in bold fabrics, heavily brocaded in gold, the others in jet black, with capes that were oddly familiar and the look of warriors about them. These moved back, subtly, as if in deference to their patron.

"You are not wise, Queen of Valdemar, to withhold the prisoners we seek. They will wreck the same havoc in your land that they did in ours. Yet with your…cooperation, we may yet find a means…" Fire erupted within the large, vaulted room, sending courtiers and servants alike shrieking for cover. A mage shield leapt into being between the Queen's dais and the outlanders, as a young Tayledras he'd never seen before leapt forward, hands outstretched, his power joining with that of Lady Elspeth and Darkwind. Kahlen lunged forward, eyes glowing, her face set and straining and melting_ into yet more fire…_

:Orwen!: That harsh mind voice jolted him back into the past – or was it the present_? :Gods above, Orwen, stay with us.: _When he could finally open his eyes there were _three_ healers kneeling around him – and Herald Alberich, his slate gray eyes narrowed in concentration_. :Can you hear me now, Ori?: _Alberich's voice resonated in his head, but his lips never moved. 

His mouth was too parched to manage so much as a croak. He nodded cautiously instead. Every muscle ached, as if he'd been running – or fighting – for hours. The incessant pounding in his head seemed to echo with hundreds of voices. His mind roiled in confusion. _But I don't have mindspeech – that, or any other gifts._

:Well, you do now.: Alberich's mental voice was taut with concern._ :Try to focus on me –shield you I can, I think.: _The voices abruptly went silent. Orwen closed his eye in relief – yet another flash of green took his vision – _Ista stared at him, her face flushed with shame and rage, her eyes brimming with tears. Ashton stood behind her, blade drawn, face taut with a bleak misery that made his own heart ache in sympathy. _

"I will not deny you, Ista." His own voice was gentle and pitying. "But I will not lie for you, either, and certainly not to the captain. If you are indeed with child, it is none of my doing." His eyes went to the Captain. "Thann, I will not meet you here or on any other field – least of all Lady Ista's…honor. I will_ grieve for the loss of our friendship." He bowed slightly and turned away, his mind already turned toward the upcoming Council meeting. He never saw the misery in Ashton's eyes turn to blind fury, or the sword sweep forward with deadly purpose…_

Devan's hands were still shaking when they finally got Orwen back into bed, with enough sleeping draught in him to keep him there. Alberich seemed just as shaken. "What was that?" The healer demanded harshly. "His heart stopped – again! It's like he wasn't here."

"Foresight." Alberich said shortly. "But of a kind I have not seen before, and much different than my own, which only manifests if threat there is, and imminent." He sighed heavily. "Forcibly wakened, late and out of control, I think. The mindspeech forced as well, and no shields, which would have wakened apace with it." Kantor's support and silent comfort eased his mind a bit. Orwen, he thought somberly, had no such comfort. "You'd best send for a mindhealer, Devan. We need to know what we're dealing with, and swiftly." 

* * *

Firesong had drifted in and out of consciousness so many times that Silverfox hesitated to believe he was truly awake and aware. But the deep amethyst eyes that turned toward him were lucid now, and calm. "I can see you, ashke." He murmured softly, then struggled up out of the bedcovers. "Heyla, is there something to eat in this place?"

All the tension melted out of Silverfox's shoulders, but his hands shook slightly as he reached for the water jug, poured a small cup, and handed it to Firesong. "I was beginning to think you'd never waken." He said hoarsely.

"I had … strange dreams." Firesong murmured, then stared down at the hands holding the cup and nearly dropped it. "My hands…" the eyes returned to Silverfox's face, searching. "It wasn't a dream."

"If you mean falling through a strange mage shield, and gating into the Palace heartstone room with Trainee Kahlen, no. You…both of you… seemed to have shared each other memories. She managed to pull you both back into the corporeal world, but…there were changes." Silverfox took his lifemate's hands. Strong hands, unchanged in size or shape, but – the skin was smooth and flawless. Nothing remained of the scars he'd taken in that last mage storm. "I'm afraid you've lost a few years, ashke. And a bit more." Cautiously, he reached for a small hand mirror and held it up.

Firesong stared for several moments into the silvered glass, then raised tentative hands to his face. "Gods…it's not…" A stranger's face – vaguely, he recalled his younger self. The shape of it seemed to echo out of a distant memory of the past, but the eyes were – strange. No longer the familiar silver he'd inherited from his distant ancestor, Herald-mage Vanyel Ashkevron. And his hair – for a moment indignation washed over him – and uncertainty. He'd never seen himself as an adult – or even a youth – with the jet black hair so common to Tayledras or their Shin'a'in cousins. Panic struck him, that his mage gift, so central to his very being, had also been reft away – and the room began shaking, a deep rumble emanating from the floor and walls. _No!_ The quaking stopped abruptly but left him deeply shaken, gripping his in-most energies with iron control, lest they escape again. No, his mage-gift was still there – but different, grown restless, barely contained. He shuddered a moment, then opened his eyes – stranger's eyes. Silverfox watched him with compassion and undisguised worry.

"I need to move to the _ekele_." He said unsteadily. "And I need an adept – and a mind healer." His hands sought out the kestra'chern's. "I can't ask you to -"

"Don't be more foolish than you have to be, _ashke_. You can't _make_ me leave you." Silverfox pulled him into a fierce hug. "And I _am_ a mindhealer. We will deal with this, _shayana_." He ran shaking hands through his beloved's hair. "There are already strands of silver returning."

Firesong relaxed into his lifemate's embrace, but only for a moment. "Young Kahlen. Is she…"

"She's mending well." Silverfox relaxed a trifle. Firesong's mind, at least seemed undamaged by his ordeal. "Her blood fought off fever the stranger carried, though it left her weak. The Healer's are more concerned with Lord Orwen. He's – something happened to him, the night you were injured."

Firesong listened with growing alarm as Silverfox recounted the young noble's apparent collapse and recurring seizures. "There are no other healing adepts in Haven that I know of." He said heavily. "I think I'd best see to him." 


	13. Echoes of the Future

Disclaimer - Valdemar, Heralds and Companions are the works of Mercedes Lackey, and remain her sole and personal property. Firechild Legacy is a derivative fanfiction work not intended for publication or profit. Kahlen belongs to me!

Chapter 13 – Echoes of the Future

__

There were so many. Orwen drifted slowly toward the salle, watching in rapt fascination as people walked blindly _through_ him, as if he wasn't there. A young herald-courier raced over the bridge from Companion 's Field, the arrow emblem flashing silver against her whites – and her Companion startled and flinched away from him, nearly unseating her rider, then sped on. With a shock he realized that the Companion, at least, could see him. And if that were so, all of them probably could, and if they told the Heralds, and they in turn told the healers, they'd likely sedate him too deeply to experiment further with this odd, double vision. A small herd of young trainees darted past – _through_ – him, headed for the salle. The 'rookie' class. A smaller group of slightly older trainees, a rough mix of heralds, bardics and blues, shuffled out just before they reached it. 

Orwen tilted his head, grinning, and considered following them. Alberich's Gift was Foresight, however, and the weaponsmaster just might sense him in this strange, half waking state. He closed his vision a trifle and "felt" for his body. He was still lying in his room at Healer's Collegium, but this time his breath remained calm and even and his pulse beat steadily, if a trifle slowly. His time sense, at least, was firmly anchored in the now. Occasionally he could feel the winds of fate pressing against him, but he held firm to this time and place. Not Farsight, not – exactly – Foresight, but some odd combination of both. He felt light-headed, dizzy – almost like being drunk. If this odd waking state hadn't been so fascinating, he'd have been terrified. The sunlight pulsed, then faded into the shadowed confines of the room that held his body. Deep amethyst eyes loomed over him. The dream-like state he floated in abruptly shattered as a deluge of ice cold water struck his face.

"Better." Firesong's voice bore a hint of laughter, overshadowed by relief. Orwen struggled up, dashing the water from his eyes, then stared in profound shock at the mage's changed appearance.

"Lord and Lady, what happened to…" Orwen glanced quickly at Silverfox, who watched them both with intense relief as he set down the empty bucket. The _kestra'chern_ reached out cautiously to brush Firesong's arm, sighed in profound relief, then gravely handed Orwen a towel and a dry tunic. The young noble stared uneasily at the Tayledras mage before shrugging out of his soaked shirt. "Did you…I thought you'd turned into…you looked like a firestorm about to explode…"

"Kahlen … pulled us back together." Firesong shrugged uneasily. "We…were a bit confused, for a while." His face, oddly young and old and entirely unscarred, was profoundly troubled. "But what did you think you were doing just now, Lord Orwen?"

A reckless, bitter grin marred the young lord's face. "I haven't a clue. I kept getting thrown into the future – or possible futures, it seems like. I didn't much like them, so I…left." Firesong and Silverfox looked at each other in dismay. Firesong nodded slowly, encouraging Orwen to continue. "I learned enough to keep breathing while I'm…out." He shrugged. "And to return quickly when the healers come in. I think the Companions could see me. I didn't go very far. Didn't want to try too much on my own." Orwen's eyes took on a vague, distant look. "It felt almost like flying. Almost like I could…" His voice faded out – and his face and body faded as well, glowing oddly, drifting like mist.

Firesong reached out slowly, fingers gently brushing the younger man's face. "Orwen. Stay."

Orwen closed his eyes and shuddered, and abruptly took on substance and solidity. He dropped his head into his hands, rubbing irritably at his temples. "If I can." He said absently. "I keep looking for Kahlen. I needed to tell her…in case I don't get another chance…" His face was a study of regret and misery.

"Orwen, you were _outwalking_." Firesong said gently. "Your soul…broke free somehow, perhaps when you first sensed the stranger's gate, or Kahlen's need, when she passed through his mage shield. It is a …rare thing." The adept raked slender hands through his own, night dark hair. "Your body almost followed this time. You cannot _do_ that, not without training, not if you want to stay sane and alive."

"Healer Devan said I _was_ dead. Twice" A ghost of a smile passed over the young noble's face. "I wouldn't mind dying so much, not really, but not if it's to no purpose. They're going to come." He said abruptly, staring at them both with renewed intensity. "Kahlen's people. They're afraid, and they're desperate, and they'll destroy us if they can. I couldn't tell when, but the Heralds need to know -" He started to get up, then fell back, disoriented, into the bed.

"You have to rest." Firesong said quietly, deeply troubled. The young man's eyes were oddly shadowed, and he'd lost weight. Burning substance to fuel his excursions, and no idea of how to draw strength from the earth. "I'm going to put you into sleep – without the healer's drugs this time." His voice took on a low, hypnotic quality. "You going to rest, and not dream. You'll wake up hungry and calm and here. No more _outwalking_. And you're not going to die, I can pledge you that. I will speak to Devan, and tomorrow we'll talk again." The young man nodded, exhausted, closed his eyes, and dropped into an exhausted sleep.

"I will stay with him." Silverfox murmured, as Firesong headed for the door. The adept nodded gratefully. It would be hard enough to explain this to Devan, let alone Elspeth, if Orwen were not watched and kept safe. 

"He did what?" Devan stared incredulously at the Tayledras mage. Firesong had found him and two apprentices in Kahlen's room, at the end of yet another a healing session.

"He was _outwalking_." Firesong explained patiently. "His soul separated from his body, but without dying. Some shamans can do this, as do our Shin'a'in sworn cousins, when they need to walk the _moonpaths_ and seek guidance from the Star-Eyed. But Lord Orwen is _outwalking_ in the _physical_ world – in time and space, without guidance or training. I laid a sleep on him that will make him rest without dreaming, for a time." He hesitated, then looked at the stricken young herald-mage. "Kahlen, he also seemed to – shift, for a moment. He went transparent, and seemed to fade. It reminded me of how you _shifted_ through the outlander's shields. I can send for kindred who know somewhat how to train _Outwalkers_, but it is usually instinctive, and generally limited to sworn shaman or adepts, and their walking is of the spirit only. This – _physical_ shifting is something new."

Kahlen hid her face in her hands, then rubbed fiercely at her eyes and looked up at the adept. "Did I do this to him?"

An ebony brow raised in mild surprise. "You might have done somewhat to _me_," he glanced ruefully down at his hands, smooth, unscarred, flawless, "but when could you have done anything to Lord Orwen?" To his surprise, the girl through off her blanket and stalked to the window, staring bleakly out at the gray, overcast sky.

"I have phased _through_ him several times in the salle, Master Firesong. During training." She turned to him, and to his amazement a sheen of tears gleamed in the amethyst eyes. "Could I have done this thing? I never meant – I never thought –"

Devan moved forward and laid a soothing hand on the girl's shoulder. "You did not harm him, child. You would never –"

"It's not what I would _do_." She said impatiently. "It's what I _am_. I _told_ the Heralds – and the Mage Sejanes – but I don't think, even now, that they truly understood. We were purpose-made. Empire-bred battle-mages, created by the _I'nadazi_ for one purpose." She drew a deep, painful breath, then folded bonelessly to the floor and wrapped slender arms around her knees. "I've studied the early histories, that led to the Cataclysm. Of the purpose-bred creatures of the Mage of Silence, and the Sorcerer-Adept Ma'ar. Gryphons. Makaar. Cold-drakes. Kyree. Lesser mages today create changechildren, but the I'nadazi are not lesser mages." 

She looked solemnly at the healer. "What do you see, when you look at me, Master Devan?"

"A pretty young lady, and a very promising Herald-mage." He answered shortly, unsettled by her odd behavior. Then he tilted his head, and examined her more closely with healing oversight. She'd lost weight, he noted, and there were shadows under the amethyst eyes, but she'd improved immeasurably over the last two days. The narrow, grave face was oddly still and pale. "You're mage-gifted, strongly so. You're not quite healed from that stab wound. Your energy levels are fluctuating at bit, and unusually high…" Kahlen sighed, and dropped all her shields. Devan's face went pale, and he stepped back a pace. "Good Gods…"

Firesong frowned at the man, then turned and studied the girl with his own mage-sight. His own shields flared instinctively, and his first impulse was to shove Devan out the door and into the relative safety of the hall. Instead, he lowered his shields, then reached forward and deliberately took the girl's hands. "Mage-gifted, indeed." He answered softly. Then to Devan, "Say nothing of this."

* * * *

Orwen woke slowly, feeling oddly disoriented. He pushed up, fighting the odd lethargy of the sleep Firesong had placed on him. The bone deep exhaustion was gone, though, and for that he was grateful, but the fire-ridden visions that had driven him to wakefulness still hovered at the edge of his vision. For a moment he closed his eyes, dreading their return. Then the obstinate grit that had made him a favorite among the heralds and one of the Collegium's best sparring partners shoved back at the mind-numbing despair. They hadn't happened yet. And he needed to see them clearly, so that he could tell Selenay, and Herald Alberich.

"Lord Orwen?" The voice was hesitant, and soft with concern. Careful steps, and a warm fragrance that made his stomach cramp with hunger, had him turning toward the door. His eyes went dark at the sight of Kahlen, carefully balancing a heavily laden tray of food as she made her way to the table beside his bed. She'd lost weight, he noted, but the amethyst eyes were clear, if troubled. The pale blond hair was pulled back in a neat braid. Her hands shook as she set the meal down, then settled into the chair normally used by the healers who tended him.

"You are not well." She said unhappily. "And I fear…I fear it is my doing." She offered him watered wine, and bread liberally spread with a soft cheese, then watched anxiously as he drained the mug and bit into the bread. He ate carefully, glanced over at the girl, then placed a piece of buttered bread into her hands. Slowly they finished off the bread, meat and cheese, then started on the bowl of mixed berries. It surprised him that he was suddenly hungry. She must have felt the same, as they reached simultaneously for the last berry. Kahlen drew back her hand, flushing with embarrassment.

Wordlessly he picked up the berry, then held it to her lips. A faint smile ghosted across her face, then the lips parted. He caressed them gently before popping the berry into her mouth, then reached over and took her hands, grinning. "So, you did something to me?" He tugged insistently, urging her closer, then fell back into the bed as a wave of dizziness swamped him. _Gods, not now! Again, in the throne room. Again, the strange envoys, but this time from a different point of view, just behind Selenay's throne. The tall, elegant figure of the envoy approached, then graciously bowed before the throne. Dark brown vestments, stiff with red and gold brocade, nearly swept the floor. A gold coronet crusted with green and red gems held back thick black hair, and thin strands of gold glinted in the braids that graced the stranger's temples. The eyes were a deep brown, almost black in their intensity, the face lean and sculpted and arrogant. _

"Greetings, Queen of Valdemar." The deep voice, low and musical, carried cleanly to every corner of the court. "I am Soren, first Life Mage of the Iron Throne, and I greet you." The man's piercing eyes swept the room, a faint smile playing about the graceful lips – then the eyes came swiftly back to Orwen's face and widened in astonishment and dismay. The slender hands came up and fire shot from them, striking him hard in the chest. The pain tore a shriek from his throat and sent him into convulsions as he struck the cold, marble floor. His last thought was that he hadn't told – hadn't warned anyone –before the darkness took him.

He woke to the sound of Kahlen's weeping, her hands clasping him with desperate urgency. Hands that glowed, that poured energy into him even as the healers burst into the room. Devan moved her hands gently aside and peeled back the blackened linen tunic, then swore at the burned, blackened marks on his chest. They faded even as he watched. The healer laid his hands over Kahlen's, then stared at the girl in wonder. The light surrounding her hands was gold, but edged with the green energies of the healing gift. The glow faltered, then faded. The girl's eyes glazed as she dropped to her knees, still sobbing. Orwen refused to relinquish her hands, instead he leaned over and, grunting slightly, pulled her into his arms and onto the bed. With a curt nod he bade the healers to withdraw. Devan eyed them both, worried, then stepped back out of the room, herding his apprentices with him. They would not, Orwen knew, go far.

"Hush now." He whispered, stroking her face lightly. "You didn't do anything to me. Promise. I did it to myself, I think." His thoughts flinched away from the old, childhood dream, and the longed-for Companion that had never come. He'd held tight to the dream, until that first night at court after he'd turned fourteen, and had gone to the ruins of the old temple in the Field – not to plead or to rage, but to simply ask – _why_? He hadn't expected an answer. He'd gotten one anyway. 

_Your gifts lie elsewhere, child of Valdemar. Your Queen needs you as noble, warrior, Councilor. Companion's gift, in this place and time, would keep you from becoming what you must. It is no easy task I call you to. Will you serve? _A profound sorrow had filled that voice – a woman's voice, heavy with regret and longing. 

It had struck him then, with devastating clarity, that a Companion and Herald's Whites would never be more than a dream for him. The boy he'd been had wept bitterly for a time, while the Voice waited patiently. 

_What shall I do, then?_ He'd finally asked, when there were no more tears for weeping.

__

A guardian of Valdemar shall you be, child, and a walker of the timepaths. You must train your mind to logic, your hand to the sword, your body to endurance, your spirit to wisdom. All these shall Valdemar have need of. Again, will you serve? 

I will serve as I may, then. He'd answered at the last. Then fled the Lady and the Grove, and turned to other dreams and other ways to serve his country, and the silent oath he'd taken that night had been tucked away with the childhood dream. Dream turned nightmare, it seemed now. What were the timepaths? What did the visions mean? He'd thought at first he was going mad, but Firesong had called it _outwalking_. Not madness, then, but something, that Valdemar had need of. As it had need of the young woman who lay curled against his chest, sobbing quietly. There would never, he mused wryly, be a better time to ask.

"Kahlen, are you afraid of me?"

"What?" She sat up and stared at him, then flushed. "No."

"You spar with me, talk to me easily enough in company – why not alone? Gaytha said you weren't interested. She was quite blunt about it."

"You haven't tried to see me alone." She replied, not quite looking at him.

Orwen began massaging her hands, gently. "My intentions were – are – quite serious. But you had no family here to speak for you. You seem older than your years, but Alberich said you were not for dalliance, and too young. I didn't want – I would have waited."

"I don't know your customs, Lord Orwen." She would not meet his eyes. "And you do not know me, not truly."

"I know enough, Kahlen." He murmured softly. "You like apples. You sneak them down to your Companion every morning, before your classes. Young Josseran thinks you're wonderful. You don't flinch from hard work, or hard choices." He pulled her a bit closer. "I feel happy when you're nearby, and I'm restless and irritable when you're away. You're everything a herald should be." He brushed his lips across her forehead. "It would be hard, I know, but I wanted more with you than just comradeship. A courtship, marriage – I meant to petition the Queen." 

"The Queen would have ordered…?" She looked frankly shocked – but curious, rather than horrified. He felt the first whisper of encouragement.

"I would have needed her permission – to court you." He answered, grinning a little madly. "As well as Herald Alberich's, my cousin Jeri, and probably Kero…you have friends here, Kahlen, and family, if you wish it. The Heraldic Circle, for one. Anything beyond simple friendship would have been your choice." 

"I didn't know." She murmured, studying him with renewed interest. "We had no choice, in the Empire. Weapons don't choose their users. The _I'nadazi_ chose for us, according to their arts, and to strengthen the bloodlines. My line was eight generations in the making." She studied him judiciously, and her lips quirked. "Soren might well have chosen you for me, had you been of the Empire." She murmured. "But I would not have been permitted the raising of any young." That, bitterly. "No other loyalties were permitted to contend with our service to the Empire, and he was loath to lose my breeding potential even after I killed D'henna."

"A dangerous lady to court, indeed." He answered softly. "Any children you give me would be yours to raise, my Lady Herald. On my oath." Then the name she'd spoken registered. _Soren_. _Oh Gods_.

"Heralds have this choice?" Her eyes were wide with surprise, and frankly intrigued.

"Who is Soren? Is he -" Orwen shook his head impatiently, then opened his mind to her, reaching again for the vision that hovered on the edge of clarity. 

_Greetings, Queen of Valdemar…_Kahlen cried out, a high, keening sound that brought the healers swiftly back into the room. Only a memory, this time, but he felt the echoes of the fire that the _I'nadazi_ wizard, startled, had thrown at him.

"_Evan'estai, Orwen! Nai' melloran. Denann, Denann_…" 

"Easy, child." He finally managed to catch her attention, shaken by the fear and wildness in her face. "He's not here yet, this Soren – and we have time yet, to prepare."

"When?" She demanded. "When will he come."

"I don't know." He replied grimly, "but I mean to find out." It took more effort than he'd expected, to pull himself to his feet. He turned to Devan, who stepped forward to take his other arm. "No more delays, Master Devan." He managed one step, then another. "I want a bath. Tell Elspeth if you must, but send word. I have to see Selenay. Now."


	14. Echoes of the Past

Disclaimer - Valdemar, Heralds and Companions are the works of Mercedes Lackey, and remain her sole and personal property. Firechild Legacy is a derivative fanfiction work not intended for publication or profit. Kahlen belongs to me!

Shyadina, Terryie, Charitymw, Morquemama, PrettyKittyOreo – Thanks so much for the encouragement! Hope you like this one. Will try to get Ch. 15 up next week.

Chapter 14 – Echoes of the Past

Kahlen watched Orwen follow the healers, her own face was frozen with fear and indecision. If Soren was coming, there _was_ very little time. She had promised to learn the Herald's ways, to build a new life here with Rand among these people. To hold true to what Sethren had taught her, when he'd taken her from the _I'nadazi_ and taught her that there was truth, and honor to be had, beyond blind obedience to her _I'nadazi_ makers. To be worthy of Alberich's trust and Jeri's growing confidence in her. To leave her deepest past behind, and never, never look back.

She had not hoped that these people could accept her true nature, and chosen instead to cling to her human heritage. But these people would not survive the coming of her eastern masters – not unscathed, and not without great loss. What the I'nadazi had done to the people of Granite, they could do to Haven, and the lands beyond. And Soren would not come alone, but with more of her kind – those bred and trained to killing unlike anything seen outside the deepest, hidden recesses of the empire. Unlike anything else _within_ the Empire. She struggled to recall what little she'd seen of Orwen's vision. _What_, she thought carefully, _would bring Soren out of the hidden sanctuaries,_ seeking Sethren – seeking her? She held that question, breathing slowly, deeply, sifting carefully through the memories she'd hoped to leave buried in the past.

Drisae's faltering words came back, slowly, sifting up through the confusion and chaos of the past few days._ I came for Sethren – and for you, Firechild, if all else failed. In hopes that your blood could fight this plague, as it fought the one at Granite. And to warn you. We failed, child. My group was captured, the survivors taken. Those who created the blood-plague were much unsettled, that we had not succumbed. They made changes to it, in their haste and fear – made it worse, if such a thing were possible. And I fear – I fear it has spread, beyond the control of those who made it. It may be loose, even now, in the empire. And they will loose it here, against the storm makers. They have little to lose now, and they are desperately afraid."_

And well they should be. Kahlen had no true understanding of how she'd beaten the plague, not the first time, and not in the more virulent form that had infected Dris and the healer, Kevren. Frugal comfort, that thought. Something instinctive, perhaps, in the blood that the _I'nadazi_ had bred into her. Patterns. Something that Firesong had glimpsed, reached for, and mastered – intuitively – but without true understanding. Yet enough that he'd been able to follow her through Drisae's shields. Something inside her had triggered changes in Orwen, stirred to life those dormant strands of potential she'd sensed floating in his blood, waking more each time they'd sparred or talked in the camaraderie of the salle. Waking more each time he'd looked at her with admiration and a growing affection she'd dared not return.

He didn't know. _None_ of them knew, not even her teachers. Only Rand, who'd kept her secret, had bought her time to settle and grow in this place. She sighed and rubbed the heels of both hands fretfully across her eyes. _First things, Firechild_. Firesong would have to learn, now, if it could be done at all. And Natoli. The young artificer had the innate skills and much of the training – the ability to think logically, and in pure mathematical terms, was well-honed.

Kahlen drew a deep, shuddering breath. If she failed in what was coming – _someone_ had to know. Firesong had the ability, and the discipline – but his greatest strengths were in his _intuitive_ understanding of magic – and it would not be enough, not against the I'nadazi. And there was only one way she could think of, to bridge the gap. She washed quickly, her mouth quirking in amusement that the healers had removed the remnants of her clothing and failed to replace it. But they'd left her soft tunics in palest green – and two were of silk. She held the garments in a firm grasp and drew lightly on the ambient energies within the palace complex. The cloth shimmered, thickened, and darkened – and she held a fair semblance of trainee grays. She frowned at the soft slippers tucked neatly under the edge of her bed, then glanced at the shadows on the floor. Near the nooning, and Josseran would soon be free of his classes for lunch. Time enough, if she hurried.

Josseran startled when he felt Kahlen's light touch in his mind, but readily agreed to bring her spare boots to Companion's Field. Reassured, she reached out for Rand, who greeted her with eager relief_. :No need to walk, Chosen. Some time in the sun would do you good. I'll meet you at the garden porch – and return you to the healer's care when you tire.:_ Rand was right, to her surprise. The small magic she'd worked on the cloth, and the short walk to the healer's garden on the south side of the building, left her shaky on her legs. Rand nuzzled her briefly, then knelt carefully so she could mount with ease, and began a slow amble toward the field. She relaxed a bit, taking comfort from Rand's warm, silken presence, and her thoughts returned to Firesong. He'd do what she asked. And all unwitting, he'd brought the means to accomplish it with him.

Orwen paused, dismayed, as he caught sight of the elegantly clad noble who stood by the window of Selenay's office, and of the strained, white face of his daughter. Lady Ista was much subdued in her father's presence, the girl's clever tongue silenced, her bright green eyes dulled with weeping and resignation.

"Lord Orwen." Selenay eyed him carefully over the wide expanse of her desk. Serious, then, if she'd troubled to clear the large, polished surface of the incessant work of the kingdom. "Lord Varrant." She nodded gravely to the older man, then swept her dark blue eyes speculatively over the subdued girl at his side. Her eyes returned to Orwen. "We were just going to inquire if you were well enough to attend us." The Queen's tone was mild, but her eyes caught and held his, the look in them cautious and questioning.

Orwen bowed, then almost fell. Devan caught and steadied him, then looked at the Queen in worried exasperation. Wordlessly, she motioned to a chair. The healer eased the young noble into it, then stepped back. "He should be in bed, resting, your Highness."

"I don't doubt you, Deven." She answered mildly, but her eyes remained troubled, and fixed on Orwen. "Lord Varrant has brought a serious claim before me, Lord Orwen. His daughter, Ista, claims to be with child by you."

Orwen would have laughed if the charge hadn't been so serious. He looked dispassionately at the young woman. Her eyes swept down, unable to meet his gaze, but not in time to hide the fear and resentment that simmered there. Fear of who? Her father? Him? She ventured a step or two away from her sire. The vision he'd had of this moment echoed through him. It would end badly, on the sword of one of his dearest friends. A spasm shook him. All his attention then had been focused on Selenay. Now he forced himself to think – and to grieve for Ian. If the captain challenged him over this chit, he'd have to kill him. Ashton was simply too good, the vision too vivid, to risk his own death. Not with the threat to Selenay hanging on the edge of his vision. _No. there has to be another way. Lady, if ever you gave me a charge…_

"Lady Ista." He said gently. "Why are you pursuing this course? I've given you no sign that my feelings incline toward you. And you know well that -" He paused. The sudden pallor on the girl's face echoed the panic in her eyes. He gaze shifted briefly to Lord Varrant, whose expression remained fixed, eyes flat with suppressed rage. Orwen turned back to the girl. "You know well I've never touched you. If you are, indeed, with child -"

"You dare question my daughter?" Lord Varrant stepped forward, unable to contain himself. Among the nobility, such a denial was cause for blood feud. Selenay rose to her feet, alarmed, torn between her need to keep peace in her court and the severity of the charge about to burst on her youngest councilor. She'd assumed the young lord astute enough to know his duty better than this. A signed contract, a quiet marriage – he had no blood heir, after all, and the girl was of suitable lineage.

"Lord Varrant, her heart lies elsewhere, after all." Orwen stepped back, and dropped clumsily into a chair. "You sent her to court to acquire me, didn't you? Unwed, no heirs, and the girl well-favored by Lady Maeve. I'm well aware of my value in such an alliance – and of your daughter's." He looked at the Queen, then at the healer standing in quiet attendance against the wall.

"Healer Devan . Is Lady Ista truly with child"

Devan arched a fine, dark brow at the young lord, then studied the young woman with healing sight. "No." He said simply, then looked deeper, studying her more carefully. "She's been highly stressed, however, and that's thrown her cycles off." Ista blushed deeply, then paled as her father came forward and gripped her shoulders.

"Dishonored then. Who."

"I won't." She retorted. The graceful jaw suddenly clenched. "I only named Lord Orwen because he was your choice, and you'd not – and 'twas my choice, not his. I love him – I'll not have you kill him."

"Your choice. You won't." The man's face held an odd mix of fury and amusement. "I could have you cloistered, child." He said softly. "You dare dishonor our name."

"He's a good man, and he loves me." She responding, struggling to rip free. "He'd come for me. He would have come now, but -" Her face flushed with dispair. "I - I told him -"

Orwen pushed up, feeling oddly alarmed. "You told him you were with child? By me?" The girl nodded mutely. Orwen sank back into the chair with a sigh. "Well, you're not." He turned shrewd eyes to the Queen. "Lord Varrant, Your Majesty, what think you of Captain Ashton as spouse for this Lady?"

Varrant looked startled, then glanced swiftly at the Queen. Selenay pursed her lips. She'd play Orwen's game, for now. "He's rising swiftly in the guard." She replied steadily. "The Lord Martial -" a flicker of amusement crossed her face at the thought of her husband and lifebonded "- thinks to name him both field commander and personal aide, with an eye to training him as a replacement."

Orwen smiled bleakly. He dared not trust the future, and thought suddenly of another pressing need. "We're also cousins. I will make him my heir apparent, with a permanent bequest of my eastern estates, it Lord Varrant will accept the match." Even Selenay was shocked at his words. It was a princely gift, too much so. "If," Orwen continued, "Lord Varrant will bestow a like bequest on his daughter."

The Queen set back, her face hopeful but troubled. "Are you sure…"

Lord Varrant was staring at his younger colleague in stunned disbelief. "You're mad, boy."

"No at all, my lord, my Liege." He managed a smile for the Lady Ista. "Only in a tearing hurry. My only stipulation is that you send for Ashton now, and secure his consent. Before I leave this room." Time seemed to blur suddenly around him. _Yes. I've changed the vision. If only it is for something better._

Ashton was white-faced when he stepped into the Queen's chambers. Shadows under the captain's eyes betrayed his lack of sleep. He went rigid when he saw Ista, then stared at Lord Orwen with hopeless, ill-concealed hostility.

"Ian." The Queen spoke sharply, forcing the captain's attention. "It seems the young lady believed herself with child – by you." An incredulous expression crossed the captain's face. "Well, she's not, not by you or anyone else. It seems," the Queen's glance brushed across Lord Varrant, then returned to the captain will the faintest touch of amusement, "that the lady inclines toward you, but is afraid her father would oppose the match – in the extreme, as it were."

Ian's face, already pale, went white. "I assure you, Majesty, I am quite capable -"

"You are quite capable of wrecking this court over an affair of the heart when I simply can't afford it." Selenay retorted bluntly. "But Lord Orwen of Ravencroft believes your thick head has some sense in it, and that your sons will eventually be worth something to the crown. I am therefore ordering a marriage, at swordspoint if need be, between yourself and Lady Ista Varrant. You are also named heir apparent to Ravenscroft, and made lord in name of his eastern estates –as well as two of Lord Varrant's." Here she looked hard at the older nobleman. He could not trust himself to speak, only nodded curtly. The ghost of a smile brushed his thin lips.

Ista burst out weeping, and threw herself at Ian, and Orwen felt the odd pressure at the back of his mind abruptly ease. The captain held the girl gingerly, then stroked her hair, pressed her face into his shoulder, and stared at his kinsman, shaken. "How could – how did you know -"

Orwen sighed and leaned back into the chair, exhausted, but couldn't keep a grin off his face. "You don't want to know, Ian. Take your lady someplace quiet, and let her explain things." Ian nodded mutely, his eyes full of questions, then led Ista away.

Orwen closed his eyes, hoping for a moment's respite, but the nausea he was coming to fear swept through him, and a cold sweat beaded his face. The room swam suddenly in his vision – Lord Varrant startled, concern warring with anger on his seamed face – Selenay rose suddenly, coming around her desk toward him. Orwen struggled to focus on his queen. "Selenay, I came to warn you – there's going to be an attack. Soon, in the throne room. A delegation - coming from the east." He struggled to hold to this time, this place. "The eastern envoy – you can't." Deven moved to his side, his face drawn in concern.

The healer knelt beside him, one hand going to his forehead, one to the pulse point at his throat. Concern turned to alarm. "Get Healer Kevren." He snapped out. The queen's page glanced once at his royal mistress then bolted for the door. Deven turned back to his patient, trying not to panic. "Quit fighting it, Orwen. Slow, deep breathes. Your heart – you've got to slow it down."

"Trying – to be – two places." Orwen managed to gasp, his voice rising in panic. "The Field – Kahlen – they're going to -" Abruptly he let go of his hold to this _here and now_, and felt himself ripping into a different time and place.

---------------------------

Yes, another cliffhanger. It's what I do! Please RR!


	15. A Fire in the Mind

Disclaimer - Valdemar, Heralds and Companions are the works of Mercedes Lackey, and remain her sole and personal property. Firechild Legacy is a derivative fanfiction work not intended for publication or profit. Kahlen belongs to me.

Bunny angel – Thanks for the encouragement. Have Elspeth and Darkwind in this one, with more appearances to come.

Nona – thanks, and I'll try to be more regular on the updates.

Myuu-Foxgirl - Am trying to avoid, or at least tone down, the cliff hanger thing. As for Kahlen and Orwen, I'm undecided about a life bond. Elspeth and Darkwind do fine without one, afterall.

Hope you like! Please review.

**Chapter 15 – A Fire in the Mind**

_:It is, as you say, a language.:_ Brytha said cautiously. _:I can transfer it, but it will be hard.:_ The dyheli turned his large, cerulean eyes to Firesong, then on the young herald trainees, and Master Artificer Natoli. All were seated in the garden of Firesong's ekele, with the heralds' two Companions, Rand and Merrill, standing protectively near their Chosen.

A master mage in his own right, Brytha had partnered with the Tayledras adept for many years, and Firesong's radically changed appearance disturbed the dyheli more than he would admit. He'd known Firesong from his early youth, and had never seen him with other than the silver hair that marked the Tayledras mages. Now the adept's hair was a deep, shimmering black with only the faintest threading of silver, the once silver eyes a deep amethyst shot through with silver rays, his face disturbingly youthful. Only the eyes were old. The dry wit and subtle humor, so like the dyheli's own, were edged now with weariness and uncertainty. The dyheli glanced briefly at Kahlen, then lowered his muzzle to touch the adept's shoulder in mute support. He would follow Firesong's lead, as always.

Firesong had settled into a thick, silk cushion on the stone bench near the soaking pool in the ekele in Companion's Field. It had grown somewhat in the years since he'd first built it, as other Taleydras had ventured here in obedience to the Goddess' command to build ties of kinship and mutual defense with the peoples of Valdemar. It comforted him now. He looked curiously at the dark-haired, serious young woman seated next to Kahlen, then at the pale, haunted face of his newest protégé.

Soul sister. Child of the strange blending they'd undergone a few nights ago, when he'd saved her life and she, in turn, had saved his. Her memories still haunted his sleep, had left him sobbing in Silverfox's arms several times when memories blended with dreams turned to nightmare. Oddly, Natoli's presence seemed to comfort them both. The young woman had displayed remarkable good sense during the mage storms, and time had only matured and strengthened her. He looked at Kahlen with compassion, and growing concern. Something had changed in the young herald's amethyst eyes, something she'd not yet revealed. There was incipient panic lurking there, and a bruised pallor that called to his healing instincts. She belonged in bed, he thought uneasily, well doused with a sleeping draught.

"So, young Kahlen." He kept his voice calm. "You wish Brytha's assistance in transferring your knowledge to Natoli?" Kahlen shivered abruptly and bowed her head.

"Just so." She whispered. "And – and to yourself, Master Firesong." Her eyes returned to meet his with an odd, pleading intensity.

"I'm not afraid." Natoli answered with a confidence she did not truly feel. The youngest Master in the Artificer's Collegium, Kahlen's abrupt request to share her knowledge of the "high art," as Kahlen called it, had unnerved her. Yet her hunger to master the concepts Kahlen had shared with her and the other collegium masters remained unabated. Mathematics, yes, but so much more! Master Levy had been dismayed that Kahlen had not been to attend classes these past few days. All of the masters were eager to obtain and understand the knowledge Kahlen had shown them. The new concepts might well hold the key to safely tapping mage energy, even ley lines, in ways that could fuel devices that _anyone_ could use. But Master Levy, while willing, was considerably older than most of the Blues. Natoli was younger, stronger, and more able to deal with the strenuous demands of dyheli mind techniques. Brytha's eyes caught and held hers for a moment, and he dipped his head in silent agreement to her thoughts.

"You should be." Firesong rebuked her gently. He held out both arms, a rueful smile on that perfect face, and sighed. "Look what dabbling in Kahlen's knowledge did to _me, _child. I did not seek this change, Natoli, I was content with who and what I was."

It was true, Kahlen thought, her mind steeped in misery. She still felt guilty over what she'd done to the Tayledras adept. And it was nothing compared to what she would – must - do. Rand dropped his muzzle onto her shoulder, offering comfort and an unnerving certainty that she was doing what was necessary. She felt Josseran shift uneasily behind her, then move closer and deliberately put his hand on her shoulder. He'd brought her boots, seen what was afoot, and refused to leave. She closed her eyes, and refused to cry. Would he still be her friend, after this? Yet she could still see no other choice. The knowledge _must_ be preserved. Natoli might – barely - grasp the concepts, but only Firesong had the skill and innate ability to actually use it.

"Master Firesong." Kahlen leaned forward, then glanced around. Too small, this miniature haven he'd created. Too small for all her purposes, but it would do for a beginning. "Natoli is a last measure, that my knowledge not be lost. But she has knowledge of her own that you _also_ need, that bridges the gap between what you hold in your own right, and what I must give you. You use mage power intuitively, Master Firesong, and you've learned much of the sciences taught here – more than most know. But you will need more."

Natoli laughed, a little nervously. "Firesong is a gifted intuitive thinker, Kahlen, but he's not a scholar – but forgive me." She shook her head, then regarded the adept with new speculation. "But you'd have to be, wouldn't you? No one reaches master class, let alone adept, without intensive study. And the way you picked up the math, during the mage storms…"

"Firesong learned far more in Urtho's Tower than he's revealed." Kahlen murmured, flushing at her invasion of his privacy. But she _knew_ him, as he knew her. The bonding of that desperate healing had eased a bit, but would never fade. And his eyes were still haunted with nightmares – hers, and no way to take them back. "He's also studied most of the Collegium's writings on mathematics, since then."

Natoli stared at the Adept in surprise and growing admiration. "Master Firesong, you are a fraud."

Firesong shrugged uncomfortably. "I believed magic was intuitive, more art than science. I still do." He sighed. "But then, I believe mathematics is far more intuitive than, shall we say, Master Levy." A hint of the old, arrogant humor shimmered briefly in his eyes.

Kahlen stared at them both, confused. "But mathematics _is_ intuitive."

"To you, perhaps." Natoli leaned over and patted the herald-trainee's hand. "But most of us must go the long way around – step by step – whereas you, Kahlen, you simply fly." To Natoli's surprise, Kahlen flinched away.

Oh, yes. She rubbed nervous hands over her face. _That I can do._

Firesong stood, watching them both with troubled eyes. "Well enough, then. What do you need us to do, Kahlen?"

He was going to trust her, she realized miserably. Without further explanation, or permissions, or safeguards. And he _knew_. He'd seen her without shields. Kahlen's voice shook. "Best we all sit on the ground, then." She dropped abruptly onto the cool grass. Natoli shrugged and did the same, albeit more gracefully. The adept sighed, then folded himself to the ground in a smooth, effortless motion, and nodded to his dyheli companion.

Firesong weathered the initial transfer of knowledge from Natoli without passing out, although he paled a bit. Natoli was not so fortunate. Brytha went carefully into Kahlen's mind, and gingerly transcribed the carefully warded knowledge she'd marked for transfer to Natoli. He went further though, and shielded the knowledge from Natoli's conscious mind – and from his own. Just brushing against the concepts made him…dizzy.

When Natoli roused a few moments later, she looked green. She slowly pushed herself to a sitting position, then simply dropped her head into her hands. "Sunfires." She gasped. "I feel like a herd of _dyheli_ just ran through my head." Kahlen leaned forward and touched the young artificer's forehead, then breathed a sigh of relief. The shields were holding. The knowledge would feed slowly into Natoli's conscious mind, but at a rate that would not overwhelm her. It didn't matter that she didn't have the Gifts needed to actually use it – she would hold it safely at need, for those who did. Natoli nodded gratefully as Josseran handed her a flask of the strong, herbal tea used to treat the headache of overused mindgifts and downed it quickly, grimacing at the bitter taste.

"You won't be needed for this next part, Natoli." Kahlen said quietly. She turned quickly to the _dyheli_, before her nerve failed completely, and her face was white with tension. "If you would, Master Brytha. From me to Firesong. Now." _This time_ the knowledge was not shielded. This time Kahlen transferred everything, unstinted and in pitiless detail. Let Firesong hate her after this, if only he survived with mind and Gift intact. She might have faltered, even so, were it not for Rand's firm, implacable conviction that they had no choice.

Josseran cried out in dismay as both Kahlen and Firesong stiffened, then collapsed. The boy settled uncertainly beside Kahlen, cradling her head in his lap and staring at Natoli with wide, frightened eyes. Natoli stirred uncomfortably as minutes flew by, then leaned forward in growing concern. A dyheli trance normally lasted only a few moments. This one was taking too long. Far too long. Natoli looked uncertainly at Josseran, and his eyes reflected her own anxiety. Josseran eased Kahlen back onto the ground then abruptly pushed to his feet and mindcalled his Companion. "I'm going for Healer Devan, Master Natoli." Healers first, he thought, his concern moving closer to panic as neither Firesong nor Kahlen moved.

Natoli eased forward onto her knees and gently shook Firesong, then Kahlen, to no effect. She bit her lip, then caught Josseran's eye and shook her head. "Get Master Darkwind first, Josseran. I don't – I don't think the healers can help with this." Natoli and Josseran were still arguing when Firesong struggled to a sitting position, groaning softly.

They both moved to his side as he held his head in his hands, drawing short, panting breaths. Natoli's concern deepened when she brushed a hand over the adept's forehead. "He's burning up." This was _not_ normal.

Both companions approached, whickering uneasily. Rand nudged Kahlen, then jerked up in alarm. Mirrell dropped swiftly to her knees and nudged for Josseran to mount. The boy placed both hands on her withers and swung forward, balancing his weight on his hands, then threw a leg over her back. "Darkwind first, then." The boy leaned forward as his Companion whirled, sped through the gate and headed for the palace complex.

Alberich was taking Kantor over the advanced equestrian training course when the vision struck. His harsh cry barely alerted the two trainees following closely on Kantor's heels. Kantor barely managed to turn, using his own massive body to prevent the youngsters' Companions from trampling his Chosen. Alberich hit the ground hard, managed to roll to break the momentum, then lay gasping, one arm flung over his eyes. _Fire, blazing around them, held barely in check by shields that wavered and surged in desperate fury. Aerial forms – gryphons? – whirling in savage combat. The boy, drawing back in desperate resolve, raising fledgling shields of his own as his Companion screamed and sought a futile path to safety… _It ended as abruptly as it had come, and he found himself on hands and knees, blood staining his greys while two white-faced trainees tried to keep him from rising.

"Please, sir, you might have broken -"

"No time…" Alberich gasped. The side of his head was numb and he felt blood trickling down his face, but there _was_ no time. Kantor stood rock still as he pulled himself up, leaned a moment against the big stallion's side, then struggled back into the saddle. He did not pause to weigh consequences, only desperate necessity. His gray eyes caught and held the trainees, and his voice lashed out, harsh with desperation. "Don't follow me. Get help. The old grove." He'd barely settled into the saddle when Kantor surged forward. Alberich reached out mentally. _:Devan! In the Field. Near Kahlen's first arrival point, I think:_

Confusion and alarm swirled through the healer's mind. Briefly, Alberich caught an overlaid image of Selanay's office, of young Orwen collapsed against a dark leather chair, glowing, fading. 

_:No time!:_ Grimly, Alberich broke the link and reached out mentally for Kahlen. The girl had strong mindspeech, as strong as his, and Kantor was screaming a mental warning to Rand. He could only pray they could be reached in time…

Kahlen struggled awake with the echo of the weaponsmaster's vision still slamming through her mind and panic rising in its wake. :Alberich?: No answer, only a wordless sense of fear and desperation. And the unmistakable surge of an incoming gate. Not a gate wielded by the western adepts of her new home, but that of an older, other heritage. Heart pounding, she struggled up and grasped Rand's mane, willing herself to move. Something grasped her, thrust her up onto his broad back. Kahlen did not stop to question it. Her eyes flashed once to a startled Natoli, then to Firesong. The adept's eyes were clouded with pain but he'd managed to sit up, still reeling under the bewildering array of knowledge she'd thrust upon him. She reached down and grasped Natoli's hand. "Stay here – and keep Firesong here, and safe. Please." The humming in the air grew louder, throbbing with power. Rand bounded forward in growing alarm.

Merrill and Josseran were halfway to the palace complex when the surge of energy struck so closely to them that the Companion was thrown sideways, off her feet, shrilling in pain. Josseran was flung from her back, his own cries drowned by the ragged hum of power as he crashed into the ground with bruising force. For a scant moment he blacked out – and when his vision cleared he was sure he'd gone mad. Something speared down out of an endless sky, a black rimmed vortex, free standing in air that shimmered with heat and impossible power. A void shimmered before him, pulled at him, struggled to rip open, beyond the confines of the power that held it, struggling to break into the world. And suddenly it didn't matter that his training had barely begun. Didn't matter that his power was new found and fledgling. What mattered was that Merrill was down, and hurt – and that he was the only herald-mage at hand. He'd never centered so quickly, or surely. Feet planted, he did the impossible – threw a shield around the black void. Denied it a grip on the land, the air. Denied it a grip on his mind, his soul. Forced it to turn from its unknown target to focus on him alone. And held.

Brytha took a hesitant step after the Companion, then whirled as Firesong stumbled to his feet, groaning. Natoli grabbed him before he could fall, then gasped and stepped back in fear. The adept's dark eyes were glowing, his face white with shock. His hands glowed with gathering power, and heat poured off him in waves.

"Oh Gods… Natoli, get in the pool and stay there. Stay down." The adept suddenly shoved her into the water. She came up, sputtering and gasping, too surprised to be outraged or angry. Her arm burned where he'd touched her. The dyheli plunged in after her, herding her toward the deep end of the pool. "Under the waterfall!" She'd never before heard fear in Firesong's voice, but she heard it now – fear, and outrage. Unnerved, she began to struggle out of the pool, but Brytha seized her mind and she found herself swept into obedience. Firesong had braced himself against the stone gateposts, then pushed himself upright and raised his hands. Power flared around him and enveloped the adept's slender form in blinding light. She cried out and wrapped both arms over her head. When she could see again, he was gone.

Kahlen threw herself off Rand's back and in front of Josseran a bare instant before the forces converging within the gate struck. She made no effort to block them. Instead, she absorbed them, vanishing into a fireball of energies that came within a scant breath of destroying the boy where he lay. The fireball lunged forward, taking the deadly heat farther away from Josseran. Merrill heaved herself to her feet, staggered to her Chosen and, gripping his tunic in her teeth, pulled him farther away from the searing heat. Rand joined her, lending a shoulder to keep her upright. A low keening came from the big mare as she frantically pulled the boy farther from danger.

White fire swirled through Kahlen, and a with it a growing rage. She used it, let it grow and swell – and triggered the change. A moment of blind panic, then she felt the flow begin, stretching outwards, growing, absorbing power from the sun – and from the heartstone beneath the palace complex – power that the two creatures that swelled into being within the gate did not have. The first, hesitated, coalesced, and faced her.

_:I see you, Kahlen.: _

_:I see you, Hakan.: _She answered steadily, as her new form took on substance – a slender, serpentine body, razor edged wings rimmed in fire and diamond tipped talons that blinded the eye. Her sinuous spine, wings and tail were tipped in deadly spikes, each joint barbed, clawed and armored with scales bright enough to sear the eye_. :Hakan. Chenoj.: _And her heart grieved for them even as her mind firmed, rock hard, against pity._ :I thought you'd died in the trials.:_

_:Soren willed it otherwise.:_ Hakan answered softly, and with regret. His fire form had matured, she noted absently. The wings were now broader than her own and black, a starless void that refused to gleam even in the day's lightHis body shimmered with dark fires, lithe and serpent strong and deadly.And sunfire gleamed within the amethyst eyes. Fire that could kill her, even in this form._ :You chose to rebel, and let the storm makers enslave you instead, to use you to thwart the I'nadazi. We were made to serve them, Kahlen, hybrid children of their very blood! Not to play power games within the human empires. You were too weak!:_

_:I was too strong.: _Kahlen replied evenly, raising her own power even as she tested Hakan's shields._ :Too strong to be a mindless tool to the I'nadazi. Too weak, perhaps, to death duel with my own kind, and children at that, and for no better reason than that Soren commanded it!:_ The old grief welled up in her, then transmuted to rage. Chenoj hovered behind his companion, thrusting power lances at her own defenses._ :Too weak, perhaps, to be used to make the killing sickness that decimated Granite, and all who lived there, or to permit it to be let loose into the world.:_

_:Traitor!:_ Hakan screamed, his mindvoice filled with pain and rage._ :You fled, you and Sethren Worldwalker, to serve the cursed storm makers. But for them, the I'nadazi might have left this world, and taken us with them – or left us free at the last! But we will yet defeat them. First the storm makers, then the blood sickness, once it has weakened them. Soren will wrest mastery of the world gates from your human masters and we will return home!: _

_:Hakan, please! These western wizards – they never made the storms, they only found a way to stop them. The storms were echoes out of time – echoes of the first storms, that first drew the I'nadazi into this world. These people are not enemies. The I'nadazi were wrong! Soren was wrong. And this plague they have made will destroy more – far more – than they intended.:_ For a moment she saw doubt in Hakan's eyes, and a fledgling hope flickered in her own. But her one-time creche-mate hardened in his resolve.

_:You cannot defeat us both, so you resort to more lies. Die then, Firechild.:_ A blast of raw power tore through the air between them. Chenoj darted forward, adding his own, weak flamse to Hakan's. Green it was, but deadly nevertheless.

Desperation made her wrap her wings forward, dropping momentarily to earth so that her shields could extend along her wings, protecting both herself and the two Companions. And Josseran, if he still lived. Fire leapt from her own eyes, but rebounded violently from Hakan's shields. Hakan was right, she could not hope to fight them both unaided. At best, she might buy time – enough to send a wordless cry to Elspeth, Darkwind, Trevyan – anyone with sight and power to hear, with mage-gift enough to help.

She was faster than she had been – the months of strenuous training with Alberich and Orwen had transmuted into surprising speed in agility in both her human and fire forms – and she had the advantage on the ground. And power – she should have been depleted now – yet when she reached desperately for more, the heartstone beneath the palace answered that need – and through it she felt Elspeth and Darkwind's awareness, and their swift approach. Shock echoed back through the stone as the two adepts reached the edge of the field and saw her – and her foes. Swift, fire-wrapped forms, winged creatures that dwarfed even the gryphons. Yet the two to one odds were wearing her down, the power harder to grasp and hold – and Hakan was driven now by more than rage. Compulsion drove him now, and a terrible fear he would not – could not – acknowledge. Chenoj hovered, excitement pulsing through his fireform – a swift, winged drake in bewildering shades of green that seemed to fade into the sky. She risked a bolt in his direction, forcing him up and away from the ground, and from the two Companions.

Something else struck Chenoj, causing him to dart to her left, his ire focused suddenly on the ground, and on Rand. He spat fire at the Companion – and something white and bristling with flames rose to intercept. Whips of fire lashed forward, striking Chenoj across the face, and a scream of rage rent the air. Almost, she struck at this new threat.

_:Kahlen!:_ She sent a wordless cry of acknowledgement, and surged forward to join the whirl of wings and outrage that was Firesong. The transformed adept rose clumsily, winging desperately for height, then whipped both wings forward. Fire blazed from the leading edges, searing the air, and driving Hakan farther into the sky. She barely managed to break his fall, landing heavily with the adept's fireform striking her across back and wings. But Elspeth and Darkwind were ready now, with shields and firebolts of there own. They struck upward together, drawing as one on the Haven heartstone. The attackers wavered, then cried out as the gate hummed and formed in the sky behind them, pulled them into the black vortex. Firesong shrieked in warning, rising back into the air, seeking greater height. Hakan screamed once in fear and frustration as the gate swallowed him and his companion, and thunder boomed relentlessly through a suddenly empty sky.

Kahlen spun rapidly, torn between Josseran's need and Firesong's. When Alberich and Kantor plunged into the clearing she fully expected them to attack her, and back winged uncertainly. But she could not leave Josseran, and Firesong… a thin, keening cry escaped her. The fireform above her hovered uncertainly, then called wearily in return and settled to the ground, shivering.

Alberich started at the glittering creature, torn between fear and wonder, then glanced over at – all he could think of was a firebird – save this one was feathered in light, with eyes of gleaming, faceted amethyst and a body gilded in palest silver. And impoosibly large. Larger that Treyvan. He turned back to the first creature. Not a bird, this one – serpent lithe, and armored in gleaming white crystal, edged with blue. Winged and clawed, but like no gryphon he'd ever seen. "Kahlen?" The creature nodded cautiously, then settled carefully to the ground and dissolved into a pool of light that shrank and coalesced into an exhausted, disheveled young woman.

She sank onto the ground before him. Her hands shook as she fingered the thin grey silk of her tunic. So long, since she'd taken the fireform. But Alberich's attention had already gone past her, and he was running toward the firebird – avatar – heedless of the random flames that enfolded it, with Elspeth and Darkwind hard on his heels. Elspeth paused held out both hands and pulled Kahlen to her feet, and helped keep her on her feet until they reached the transformed adept. "Call him." She said hoarsely. "Gods, if he can't -"

"Fire and ash, it was too soon." Kahlen moaned, but raised her hands and laid them flat against the creature's flaming side_. :Firesong! Come back. Remember us. Come back!:_

He did not want to hear her. He was drowning in firesong – in energies he'd only dreamed of. The sky called him to flight, and to freedom. Endless sky. Endless space. The barriers between the planes shimmered and thinned, and beckoned him to new realities and new wonders. He shook off the faint voices that called to him, wanting them to go away. If he could just figure out these wings – and the air – it was so close! The knowledge, and the freedom. Other voices called now, children's voices, that he'd trained and nurtured over the years. Elspeth. Darkwind. He wanted the wind, the sky! But the voices refused to leave him alone.

_:Firesong. Please.:_ The fear and longing in the voices irritated him, made him pause. If only they would go away! Sounds of weeping. Pain called to him. Sighing, he turned back to the voices. The sky would have to wait. He was a healer, after all. He looked down at himself, at fire and crystal that echoed of another form he'd once made. Smaller, feathers laced with magery, impervious to flame. Aya? Aya, it was, whose patterns he'd once shaped in a fire of creation the exuberance of his youth. Had taken now, in desperate need, and reshaped for this new form. The bright wings rose and blazed in wordless protest against the loss of that beckoning freedom, then faded, shrank into mere human flesh, and he pitched forward into Darkwind's arms.

_"I can't …save them both."_ Devan trembled from the strain of keeping Josseran alive, then glanced desperately at the fallen adept. He'd arrived scant moments after Firesong had wrenched himself back into human form, but had gone immediately to the fallen Herald-trainee. Mage shock, and severe enough he was amazed that the boy was even alive. The boy's Companion had collapsed next to him, her eyes glazed as she continued to feed the boy energy through their bond.

Alberich knelt beside them, gray-faced with the backlash of his own gift. "You must save the adept then." He said hoarsely. Harsh blue light flickered in those gray eyes. Foresight, Devan knew, and cursed softly. He glanced hopefully at Elspeth, but she only nodded her consent, eyes flooded in wordless grief. Lifting his hands from the dying boy was the hardest thing Devan had ever done, and tears streamed unashamed down his face as he transferred his attention to the adept.

No. Kahlen watched with disbelieving eyes as Alberich gathered the boy to his chest, weeping openly. Slowly it dawned on her – Josseran. Merrill. Both would die, at the word of this man. She stepped forward, not knowing what she intended, when a flicker of light touched the air beside the kneeling weaponsmaster, grew, took shape, and met her eyes with urgent need. Orwen solidified for a bare moment within the light. He flashed her that reckless grin she'd only seen when they crossed blades in the salle, then bent and lifted the boy from Alberich's nerveless grasp. An instant later they had both vanished, lost in the fading light.

* * *

Okay. No cliff hanger, merely the end to an action scene. Comments, please! 


	16. Fire Demon's Get?

Disclaimer - Valdemar, Heralds and Companions are the works of Mercedes Lackey, and remain her sole and personal property. Firechild Legacy is a derivative fanfiction work not intended for publication or profit. Kahlen belongs to me.

Chapter 16 – Fire Demon's Get?

Alberich stared in disbelief at his empty hands, then at the spot where Orwen had knelt scant seconds before. Gone. Both of them. The bright, half-mad smile on Orwen's face had not hidden the fear he'd glimpsed in the younger man's dark, amber eyes. Fear for himself, or for Josseran?

"Josseran." He said hoarsely, not daring to hope.

:Alive.: His Companion, Kantor, knelt next to the boy's Companion, willing her to stay with them, feeding energy into the big mare. Alberich struggled to his knees and staggered to the stricken Companion, hands moving gently over her throat. The pulse was there, but thready. Kantor nudged him firmly, then threw his head up, looking toward the Field and the sound of silver hoofbeats.

Alberich saw Gwena running toward them, then turned back at the pale, wild-eyed young woman who'd moments before had been – something else. "Orwen, the boy – what happened to them?" His voice was calm, despite the tears that ran down his scarred, seamed face.

Tears, Kahlen thought numbly. The weaponsmaster had abandoned Josseran to death, had ordered the healer to tend to the adept instead, yet he wept for the boy. A terrible grief welled up in her. She'd sacrificed Zethren, her hope of healing him, for these people – how could they so swiftly abandon a child? "How could you -" Her voice trembled. Violence and a terrible grief simmered in those amethyst eyes, and her form seemed to shift and waver in the air. "You would have let Josseran -"

"My gift is foresight." The man said heavily, the grey eyes dull and flat. "If the adept had died… I _saw_ Valdemar fall, eaten up with disease…and fire. Now…the future is hidden, twisting in many paths. Many still lead to that fate, yet now at least there are other paths, whose ends to see I cannot. What _were_ those creatures, Kahlen?"

"Fire elementals, mayhap demons." Darkwind answered, coming to the weaponmaster's side. "I have not seen their like before, nor sensed such power. Adept class, yet… not human."

"They were children." Kahlen whispered. "Mage-bred, as I am, made by the _I'nadazi_, to serve their purposes. Bred as weapons, as I was. I have _tried_ to tell you!" Her voice shook with fatigue. "I cannot speak any plainer. _We are not human_. We were _never_ human!" She turned to Darkwind in frustration. "You are an adept, _m'hada_. When will you open your eyes?" Abruptly her form paled, glowed white hot, and vanished in a burst of flame. The slender, fire winged creature that appeared in her place swept back narrow featherless wings that burnt the air with each furious stroke, then rose and swept toward the palace complex. It darted to the ground and vanished into the Healer's Collegium before the startled guards near the palace entrance could do more than shout.

Josseran woke in the dark, his head pounding with pain, afraid to open his eyes. Familiar hands swept back his hair, and warmth flowed into his temples, easing the throbbing ache.

"Keep still, Joss." Kevren? The boy tried the speak, but only a thin moan emerged. The warmth grew, made him drowsy, and pushed him back into dark.

Kevren eased back from the boy, then glanced uneasily at Lord Orwen. "He'll live." The healer said cautiously. "No promises beyond that." He was not so sure about the young lord. Orwen didn't look quite… sane. Neither did the young woman sitting silent and rigid in the chair next to his. As she had for hours. Kevren sighed and stretched. His back felt brittle with fatigue.

"You need to rest." The healer said quietly. "Both of you." He walked slowly to the door, opened it. Kahlen ignored him, going instead to the grey-faced boy lying bonelessly on the bed. Her hands shook as she brushed back the thick, jet-black hair. "He'll live, Kahlen." The healer said heavily. "He'll recover, I think. Right now he needs rest and healing. I promise you, he'll get it. Now go take your own."

Orwen sighed and pushed himself to his feet. "Come, child. We'll be no good to the boy – or our young healer – if we both pass out at his feet." Impossibly, his eyes still held a mischievous gleam as they turned toward her, despite the grey pallor of his face.

Kahlen searched Josseran's face one more time, then felt carefully for his mage channels. Drained, seared, but not destroyed. And she could sense the tentative beginnings of healing. A sob of relief escaped her, then she straightened and held out her hands to Kevren. The healer took them uncertainly, then sighed as she leaned into him, her face muffled against his greens. "Thank you." She eased back a bit, searching his face. "You have it too, now." She murmured softly. Her hand traced a light pattern over his heart. "You, Josseran, Firesong, Orwen." Her breath quivered uncertainly. "God grant it may be enough."

She did not resist when Orwen reached for her, and drew her slowly out of the room. They leaned on each other, moving slowly toward the doors of the Healer's Hall. Kahlen stumbled at the threshold, and lacked the energy to protest when Orwen swung her up into his arms and moved through the doors. "He's in the best care," the young Councilor murmured against her hair. He took several steps forward, and almost fell when something nudged his back. A warm white muzzle touched his neck. _:You're neither of you fit to walk, and if Deven catches you here, in this condition, you'll be back in Healer's Hall and in separate beds before you can think. Best come with me. You are both summoned.:_

The Council chamber was full, though only a few councilors were present. Lord Varrant she recognized from serving Council duty a few weeks ago. Another councilor, Lord Marchon, stood next to Varrant, his face pale and nervous,. Both gryphons stood in the open pit at the chamber's center. Darkwind and Elspeth, and the Royal Consort stood near their own seats, but the Queen's Own sat in Selenay's chair, her hands held still by force of will. Alberich stood behind her. All were tense and more than tense. Several showed open fear. Kahlen moved to the table and dropped wearily into an empty chair, one reserved for witnesses. Orwen moved to stand protectively beside her. Two herald-trainees stood fearfully near the door, flanked by armsmen. She recognized Julia, and managed a brief smile.

"May I have some water, please?" Julia glanced for permission to Prince Daren, then moved swiftly to fetch glasses and pitchers from the sideboard. Kahlen's eyes met Alberich's. "Firesong?" She asked softly.

"Well enough. Devan's moving him to the Healer's Hall, where they can tend him." The weaponsmaster answered, them moved slowly to take his own seat. "The boy?" Kahlen swallowed hard, and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"He's resting." Orwen replied." Drained and mage-shock. He should recover." His arm moved comfortingly around Kahlen's shoulder as he slide into the chair next to hers. For a wonder, she did not pull away. Instead she leaned toward him and rested her head on his shoulder. The amethyst eyes were closed, marked with dark shadows. Her face, always pale, looked drawn and translucent.

"He won't." The girl said quietly. "He's been marked, as have Firesong and Healer Kevren, and – and you, my Lord." Sighing, she pushed herself upright and turned to face Orwen. "All of you are mages, or had mage potential. All of you have been marked with my blood – you through combat, Firesong, Josseran and Kevren through blood or mind-touch. I'm so sorry...Rand should never have Chosen me and I should have -" Her voice broke. "I should have died with Zethren."

:We do not make mistakes, Chosen, at least not in our Choosing. You are where you are meant to be.: Rand walked into the chamber, and at the surprise on some of the gathered faces, more than Kahlen was hearing him. The Companion turned a cool gaze on Prince Daren. _:Where is Selenay?:_

Rand walked into the chamber, and at the surprise on some of the gathered faces, more than Kahlen was hearing him. The Companion turned a cool gaze on Prince Daren. 

"I – we kept her out, until we knew what we were dealing with." He inclined his head to Kahlen, his eyes uncertain and troubled.

Rand moved to her chair and brought his head protectively over her. _:Call her, then.:_ The Companion answered shortly, then to Daren only. _:And for Master-mage Sejanes. Tell Selenay that a King of Valdemar wishes to speak with her.: _Daren's eyes widened in shock.

Selenay's arrival showed that she hadn't had far to come, and her eyes flashed angrily at the people gathered before her, coming finally to rest on the Queen's Own. Apparently, the Queen had not taken well to being denied access to her own Council Chamber. "What happened in the Field." Her words were harsh as she stopped pointedly beside Talia. The Queen's Own merely rose and stepped aside, yielding the chair to Selenay.

Kahlen sighed, then stood up and bowed to the Monarch. "Two of my _I'nazadan_ – my kindred – confronted me near Master Firesong's _e'kele_, your Highness. They came in battle form. If Josseran hadn't held them - If Master Firesong hadn't intervened, we would have all died."

"They came in battle form." Selenay glanced uncertainly at her consort, then at the mage, Sejanes. One of the gathered Heralds stepped forward, his eyes going uncertainly to Kahlen. His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword and stayed there.

"The guardsmen on duty saw two – creatures, your Highness. We took them for changebeasts at first, but they appeared through a kind of - a ripple in the air. It shimmered like that shield Herald-trainee Kahlen had about her the first day she arrived in Valdemar." The man, Herald Evan, looked at Kahlen again, and relaxed a bit at her nod of agreement. "The creatures were large and winged, Majesty, but they were not gryphons. No feathers. They were scaled, one in black jet, one in green. Whether fire or flesh, we could not tell. Herald-trainee Josseran threw a shield around them, then fell when they attacked him. His shield held. Herald-trainee Kahlen -" He stared and her and clenched his hands "Changed into something. It looked like they did, like fire-drakes, the lot of them – or demons. They fought, then Master Firesong came and." He drew a deep, uneven breath. "Master Firesong changed as well, into a flying creature. I took it for a gryphon at first, from its size, but only the head and wings were similar. It had talons, more like an eagle. And it was white, and streaming fire..." He shook his head and stepped back, hands clasped behind his back.

Kahlen sighed, pushed slowly to her feet, and faced the Queen to whom she'd sworn allegiance. Selenay gave a brief nod. "Two of my crechemates, Majesty. Hakan and Chenoj. The _I'nazadan_ have three forms. This, the form we are born in." She gestured at her own body. "The battleform, which is chosen and shaped by our I'nadazi masters." She glanced uncertainly around the room. "Too small, here, with so many." She staggered a bit, then dropped back into her chair and scrubbed a shaking hand across her face. "Your pardon, please." Selenay nodded to the pages, who came forward with glasses and flagons of wine and water. Kahlen shook her head at the wine, but accepted a mug of heavily sweetened tea. It helped clear her head. She looked back at the Queen and gathered Council members, who were clearly waiting for her to continue. "I can't describe the third form. Call it _gateform_, for moving between the planes. The "I'nadazi have been trying to breed a form that can move them to the home plane for many years."

"I... see." Selenay glanced helplessly at Sejanes. The old mage looked troubled and uncertain. The members of the Council merely stared from the Queen to her newest herald, fear apparent on many faces.

Master Sejanes shifted forward in his seat, peering at her anxiously. "They are not native to this land, then, these I'nadazi?"

"No, Master Sejanes. They have been trapped here, for many lifetimes. They took a form that would let them move about in this world, seeking the means to return to their own. They have served the Eastern emperors for centuries." Kahlen leaned back, felt Rand behind her, and realized suddenly that the Companion was feeding her energy. She touched his muzzle in wordless gratitude.

"Since the mage storms, then." The Prince-Consort murmured grimly.

"No, my lord." Kahlen sighed, and rubbed her temples dispiritedly. "Since the _First Cataclysm_. They were close, very close, to finding their way home when the storms returned and disrupted their work." She looked plaintively around the room, _willing_ these people to believe her. "They believe Valdemar has rediscovered the Adept magics that trapped them here, and brought the new storms that denied them a way home. The _I'nadazan_ were bred to create gates that could reach, and guard, their passage home. But they are very old, old and powerful, and not quite sane. And they are desperate. They sought weapons that could stop your interference, or so they deemed it to be. They created the plague that ravaged Granite."

"Where, child? Where are they from, these _I'nadazi_?" Sejanes asked softly.

Kahlen hesitated a moment, then raised her hands, clasped them tightly together, then opened them in a wide, casting gesture. Several people cried out and stumbled back as flames blasted into the chamber and formed a searing ball in front of the girl. Both gryphons screamed challenge and leapt backward, away from the flames. But no heat came from them, only light and a blurred edge in the wavering air that made clear this was a vision, not actual flames. The flames wavered and died, leaving a dark image of a barren, wasted plain under a cold grey moon. Fire crawled on the ground, and the faint, mournful cry of a winged creature spiraled down from the night sky. The image shimmered, then abruptly vanished.

"The fires are dying." Kahlen murmured softly. "Not much to save, now, with none to tend them."

"Master Sejanes," Prince Daren interrupted, thoroughly shaken. "Do you know that place?"

The mage nodded reluctantly. "I studied it. I never thought to see it. The greater Adepts used it for a source of power, centuries ago, before it was sealed off. Little is known of it now. It is... a different plane." His eyes went to the Queen. He nodded tersely to Kahlen. The girl was no fool, at least. She swept her hands together, banishing the vision of the dark, burned plain. Several within the chamber sighed in relief, and more than one murmured a warding against evil.

The councilor next to Lord Varrant shifted nervously, his eyes flicking from to old mage to Kahlen, his fright verging on panic. "Come, come, Master Sejanes. What are we dealing with here?"

Several other councilors began murmuring, their level of alarm rising. Both guards shifted uneasily. Talia frowned, then laid a hand briefly on the Queen's arm. The rising tension in the room was palpable. The Queen nodded tersely to the old mage. Better to face it squarely, rather than let tension rise to the level of hysteria.

Sejanes nodded reluctantly, then pushed himself to his feet. "In the time of the greater adepts, they were called the Varrir. They are creatures of air and light and –"

"Fire." The councilor, Lord Marchon, interrupted. "Fire demons." The man dropped into his seat, staring at Kahlen in mounting horror, his voice rose to a pitch that bordered on hysteria. "Fire Demons. Gods help us..." He raised a shaking hand and pointed it at her. "She's ... she was made by..."

Orwen sighed and leaned forward, his arm protectively around Kahlen'a shoulders. "We don't always get to choose our families, Lord Marchon." He said, forcing amusement into his voice. "Wherever she came from, Kahlen has proved herself. She has protected the people of Valdemar not once but _four_ times – twice at great personal risk. She is a _Herald_."

"But if – if she's demon-bred -"

"The Varrir are _not_ demons." Sejanes interjected, with just the right tone of exasperation in his voice. "They are kindred to the elementals, and intelligent beings, much as our allies the gryphons." He nodded cordially to Treyvan and Hydona, who gravely returned the courtesy, but his voice was troubled. "And they've apparently been trapped here for... centuries." He turned troubled eyes to Kahlen, who spread her hands in wordless agreement.

The old mage turned back to Selenay, his eyes dark with worry. "They are also the elite of Melles' imperial mage corps, your Majesty. It is true that the eastern emperors have kept them for time beyond thought, but I do not think that that even Melles truly knows what he inherited from the Emperor Charliss." He folded his hands carefully. "If plague has been loosed in the empire, Melles will be desperate to find a cure. And he is not mad enough to use such a weapon, unless he was sure of a cure beforehand."

"The empire is not our concern, Master Sejanes. Valdemar, and the safety of her people, must come first." Lord Marchon stood up, his eyes darting fearfully back to Kahlen. "Your Majesty, if I may be excused? I – I need to think." At Selenay's nod he bowed, then strode swiftly out of the Council Chambers.

Selenay rose, her eyes troubled. "I think we all need time to... absorb what we've learned today." It was a clear dismissal. Her eyes went to Rand, who'd remained oddly silent throughout this exchange. The Companion bowed gracefully, his eyes unreadable. He did not leave as the assembled councilors and courtiers filed out. Finally only Selenay, Prince Daren, Kahlen, Orwen and Alberich remained.

"Your message was... unsettling, Companion Rand." Selenay cocked her head to one side.

:It was meant to be.: Rand dropped his muzzle against Kahlen's hair. _:It got you here, before that fool Marchon did too much damage. He's going to give you trouble.:_

Rand dropped his muzzle against Kahlen's hair. 

Selenay sighed. "It won't be the first time." She hesitated a moment, her eyes anxious and hopeful_. :Do – I know you, Sire?: _

:No.: The Companion replied. _:I ruled – long before your time, or your father's time, Selenay. We may not return thus until long after those we knew are in the Havens. I only spoke to get you here quickly, distant daughter. And because...there are things you must know, that only I can tell you.:_

He nudged Kahlen gently. _:Go rest, child. Lord Orwen, if you would...:_

Orwen needed no further urging. He pulled Kahlen to her feet, and leaned his forehead wearily against her own. _:My chambers are closer.:_ She only nodded wordlessly, and followed him slowly out of the Council chamber.

Rand moved closer to the Queen, his blue eyes moving from face to face_. :Do not ask.: _His mindvoice was soft and melancholy. _:I cannot tell you of your own dead, even if I would, child. But those who die in service to Valdemar are honored in the Havens. In time they may choose the Companion's way, but only when it does not interfere with the living.:_

Selenay closed her eyes, then nodded, not sure of what feelings roiled in her head and heart. Perhaps – gratitude? _:What must I do, then?:_

_:Trust my Chosen, distant daughter. Protect her. Do_ not _let the fears of your Council or Court prevent her from doing what we – what she must.:_ The tall Companion bowed his head. _:We will not fail you. No more than Vanyel Ashkevron failed me, at the last.:_ The Companion stepped back carefully, turned, and stepped silently from the hall.

Selenay turned to her heralds, her throat tight with emotion. "You heard?" They nodded cautiously. Daren moved and placed an arm around her shoulders. It was almost unheard of, for a Companion to _speak_ to any but their Chosen. Fewer still were those who knew that many Companions were themselves former heralds from the distant past. None had ever revealed their past names or service – until now. The Queen sighed, and her voice shook slightly when she spoke again. "Trust Kahlen. An empire mage, and herald-trainee for less than a year. So. What can we do to prove our trust – to make it clear to Marchon, and the others who are going to go wild with this news?"

She hadn't expected an answer. She got one anyway. "I call the Circle." Alberich's voice was weary, but firm. "A matter for the Heralds, this is."


	17. Kahlen's Choice

Disclaimer - Valdemar, Heralds and Companions are the works of Mercedes Lackey, and remain her sole and personal property. Firechild Legacy is a derivative fanfiction work not intended for publication or profit. Kahlen belongs to me.

Apologies for being so slow to update. Got spread too thin again.

Chapter 17 – Kahlen's Choice

Kahlen barely noticed when Orwen led the way to his suite of rooms, or when he sent a young, wide-eyed page off with an order that simple foods to be brought to his quarters. He studied the girl's wide, staring eyes for a moment, then led her into a bathing room, gently disrobed her and pushed her down into a large, sunken tub. The water was warm, and soothing enough to make her weep. The oils he poured in added a warm, light scent to the air that cleared her head and eased the tension in her muscles. Her back ached with the remembered pull on long unused flight membranes, transmuted now into human flesh and blood. He'd disrobed and slipped into the water, unbraided her hair, and lathered it with a thick, creamy soap before she realized just what he was doing.

It didn't matter. She didn't feel real. The water flowed, she discovered, watching the lather stream away and disappear into the far channel of the enclosure. The tiles lining the pool were warm. She tensed, feeling Orwen's hands on her body, but his touch was impersonal, working the muscles gently at first, then with greater firmness. She sighed and leaned back into his hands. He lowered her into the water, sluicing water through the thick, pale blond strands until the water ran clean. When she finally looked at him, his own hair was gleamed with water and traces of soap, and his eyes were dark with humor and regret.

"Better?" She nodded wordlessly. Orwen rose and reached for towels and bathrobes, and shared them out with her. She found a large comb on the titled counter, and worked it soundlessly through her hair before stepping shyly back into his quarters. A sitting room, meant for lounging or reading. A platter of sliced fruit, cheeses and bread waited on the table, and a pitcher of mulled wine. A wrapped pot of stew sat on warming on the hearth. Kahlen reached listlessly for the bread, but didn't think she could eat much. She was still thinking that when Orwen ladled a second helping of the stew into her bowl. She ate mechanically, her body demanding nourishment, her mind indifferent to the taste or texture. It was food. It eased the hunger brought on by shapechanging.

Orwen set his own bowl aside, sighed and closed his eyes. "What are you doing to me, Kahlen?" A sound made him look at her. The stricken misery in her eyes undid him, and a moment later she was in his arms, weeping softly. "Not the outwalking – or what ever it is." He murmured soothingly. "That comes as the Lady wills, I think. I don't mind it, really – it let me save Josseran today." He ran a gentle finger over her lips.

"I dream about you, you know. I dream about fire, and flying, and lightning searing through a black night." He pulled her closer, and sighed when her arms slipped around him, seeking comfort. "I dream of having you with me like this, and hoping for more." He raised her head and stared into the dark, amethyst eyes. "I dream of children who can fly, and heal, and bless my hearth like their mother."

"I can't." She whispered hoarsely. "I can't risk you. You don't know -"

"That you're different? Do you think that matters to me? Firechild. Your first companions – Zethren and Drisae – called you that, with much affection. But it's true, isn't it?" The Circle once asked if you were a firestarter – if you had control of it. And you answered, 'It is what _I am_.'"

His eyes darkened with determination and passion. "So you'd better teach me, so we don't burn down the palace." And the flames came, not from her, but from the man who held her, who would not let go – and whether by merest chance or instinct, had wrapped them both in silk.

A wild hunger swept through her – and he was with her, shifting into firelight and shadow, weaving a light that did not – quite – set the furnishings on fire. His control wavered, the fire burst out – and she was guiding him, limning wings of scarlet with shape and form and the trailing edge of living flame, shifting soundlessly into her own fireform – then drawing them back ruthlessly into human shape. The room shimmered as shadows warred with the flame, then settled as the fire drew back into flesh and blood and sheer wonder.

"How did you – how could -" Kahlen raised shaking hands to his hair, gazed, astonished at the banked flames behind the gold eyes. The wide sofa where they'd fallen was unmarred.

Orwen raised a trembling hand and called the fire, watched it dance silently on the palm of his hand. He closed his fingers, quenching the tiny flames, then stroked cautious fingers through her hair. "Will you have me, Kahlen?" The voice was tender, yet rasped with exhaustion. His energies were low, dangerously so, but his eyes burned as he looked at her, waiting.

Kahlen's hands came up, swept through his hair, then rested on his shoulders. The amethyst eyes gleamed with longing and uncertainty. "We're neither of us fit to decide such things." She whispered softly. "And I'm fool, and you a greater one. But I will have you, Lord Orwen."

"And you'll be Lady of Ravencroft." He pressed her into the cushions, implacable, though his hands were gentle. A world of questions lay in his eyes.

"I will be... myself." But she sighed and yielded eagerly his questing touch. Their robes shimmered, melted to her will, and reformed as a rich, shimmering covering, streaked in green and gold, the colors of his house, and heraldic blue. What fires came at their calling were quenched beneath the silk.

Okay. It's short, but there's no cliffhanger. Next chap I'll revert to my usual evil ways.


End file.
